The Chosen Ties that Bind
by PrairieLily
Summary: The inevitable Mollstrade/Lestrolly universe drabbles, all kept neatly in one place. Genres vary, most chapters are stand-alones some are mini-series. No slash or Johnlock, Donolock beginning with chapter 8 because I can... I own none of these characters, no copyright infringement is intended!
1. What Sherlock Missed

_So... here it is, the inevitable Mollstrade Drabbles. I knew they were coming the moment I realized that I was delving into a Mollstrade universe. I have this one and another one that came to me at the same time. I'm hoping to have time to do that one today as well. As with the Eurstrade drabbles and plot bunnies, the short chapters in this one will be connected to this universe, but still standalone chapters. If there are longer, separate stories outside of this one which are referred to, I will state that, but "What's Best for Friends" is the foundational one in this universe. I hope readers who have been following me and who ship Mollstrade/Lestrolly enjoy my efforts. I find myself conflicted. I've always been Sherlolly but Mollstrade has really grabbed me firmly lately too. :-O So what's a girl who adores both Sherlock and Greg, and both with Molly, to do? Write them in separate universes, of course!_

* * *

 _ **What Sherlock Missed**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family/Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg and Sherlock_

 ** _Mollstrade tie-ins:_** _Tick Tock_

"Scott is a good name, you know," Sherlock said, casually, seemingly out of the blue. Greg, standing next to him and checking something in his notes, looked up.

"What was that?" he replied, still only half distracted by the case they had just wrapped up. As usual, Sherlock had moved on seamlessly, and nearly immediately. Solved cases were no longer of any importance to him, something Greg had learned a long time ago. Sherlock did one thing at a time, did it very well, and then moved on without a single glance behind him.

"Scott. It's a good name. Short, traditional yet modern. Easy to remember." Sherlock smiled, still gazing off into the distance somewhere in that way he had that indicated contemplation and reflection.

"Simple and straight-forward, not like 'Greg', hey?" Lestrade said, lighthearted sarcasm tinging his voice, his mood having been lightened considerably by the way the day had turned out. He glanced over at Sherlock, laughing.

Sherlock looked over at him and grinned, the smile crinkling his eyes with true amusement. "Yes, well…" seemed to be his wordless, reply. Had Sherlock been like most people, he may have offered a self-deprecating shrug of the shoulders. But Sherlock Holmes wasn't prone to self-deprecation, in any form.

"So, you've somehow deduced that Molly is having a boy, then?" Greg's curiosity was piqued, wondering just how much Sherlock had figured out.

"Well, obviously. I knew she was pregnant before she did, and certainly before you did. I couldn't convince John and Mary to name Rosie after me, I thought maybe since you're actually having a boy I'd give it another go with a more reasonable suggestion than naming your child 'Sherlock'. 'Scott' seems a more likely choice to be seriously considered."

"Ah, 'Scott' and not 'William', then? Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes?" Greg studied his friend's face, a crooked, wry smile on his own.

"Well, I'm simply lowering my expectations to something that may actually be placed under serious contemplation. You know, start small and work my way up. I have yet to eliminate 'William' from the campaign. Of course, Molly is young enough yet. You may still have another someday. I haven't given up hope of having a namesake just yet."

Greg grinned warmly. "We'll take that under advisement," he said, sounding like he was promising.

It was more than just a casual 'we'll see' sort of promise. The truth of the matter was, Greg and Molly had already discussed names, and both 'William' and 'Scott' had already become shoo-ins.

Greg Lestrade was a far better detective than Sherlock believed, however, and it was clear to him, based not only on what Sherlock had said, but also on the subtle subconscious clues of body language that Greg had developed a keen eye for over the years - and a keen one with regards to Sherlock himself in particular - that Sherlock was only suggesting _one_ of those names for this particular baby. The truth of the matter was, Greg and Molly already knew what they were having, and Sherlock was correct in deducing a boy, however he had managed to do that.

What the world's only consulting detective had missed, however, was the fact that those two names, chosen in his honour, were not to be bestowed upon the _same_ boy.

Greg and Molly were already over the moon with excitement, but the look on Sherlock's face when he swept into Molly's room in the maternity ward and saw _twins_ , would be absolutely bloody _priceless_.


	2. What Moriarty Missed

_**What Moriarty Missed**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family/Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg and Sherlock_

* * *

 _"_ _Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most." (Sherlock to Molly, Season 3, Episode 1, "The Empty Hearse")_

* * *

 _"_ Why did you do that?" Greg said, breaking the serenity of the silence he was sharing with Sherlock. There were times when they had much to say, whether John Watson was with them, or not. But there were times when silence spoke volumes to the depth their friendship had achieved.

Greg was genuinely flummoxed. Newly engaged to Molly Hooper, happier than he'd ever been in his life, but still utterly flummoxed.

"Do what?" Sherlock asked curiously, turning to his friend.

"Give Molly up for me? You love her, just as much as I do. So why did you give her up and push her towards me?"

" _Because_ I love her. I have very few people in my circle who are important enough to me to say, fake my own death and vanish for two years just to save their lives, both from immediate danger, and future peril. John. Mrs. Hudson. _You_. Moriarty missed one though." Sherlock had turned reflective, his features softening with the inner emotion he had finally learned to reconcile with his outer logic and chilled impersonal demeanor.

"Yes. He missed Molly," Greg replied. None of this was news to him. The older man turned to look at his friend, studying his face for clues.

"Molly. Moriarty greatly underestimated her worth to me."

"But Eurus didn't. She saw it, and she used it, tried to destroy you with it. I mean, I understand of course that for you, it wasn't about _you_ being in danger... it was about _Molly's_ life being threatened, even if it _was_ a hollow threat. Still, the _game_ was about you, and Molly was meant to appear be collateral damage." Greg finished. Sherlock glanced at him, a look of grateful understanding passing over his eyes.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, she was. I'm not sure Eurus would do such a thing now, she's changing slowly with time and contact with family and myself. But at the time, she had no qualms about using Molly to get to me," Sherlock replied. "I'm not sure that Magnussen wouldn't have put her in peril as well, had I not… well. Had _he_ not, I mean…"

"The world is full of Magnussens and Euruses, I suppose," Greg conceded, noting but choosing to ignore the near admission of guilt. Magnussen was dead, no longer posing a threat to anyone he cared about. Whoever had actually pulled the trigger was of no consequence to him. "If anyone knows that, it's you and I."

"Indeed, Greg. I knew I could never make Molly truly happy, not in the long term, but most of all, I wasn't sure I could ever keep her truly _safe_. Moriarty may be dead, Magnussen may be dead, Eurus may be changing for the better… but there is still much evil left in the world, in _my_ world. When one evil is eliminated, it always seems that there are two more in queue to take its place. It's peril to my loved ones in perpetuity. If I didn't trust you to be able to protect her from that, I may not have encouraged your union quite as adamantly as I did."

"I understand," Greg said, simply. "Thank you for that, by the way. For that matchmaking bit. I hope you realize what it's meant, I mean knowing what you gave up."

"If our roles had been reversed, Greg, if giving her up meant her happiness and well-being were to be assured, would you?"

Greg smiled briefly, his eyebrows twitching, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course I would," he said.

"Then you know that I didn't truly give up what was most important. I may have encouraged you and Molly to be together, to marry, to have a family perhaps, all I did there was to encourage something I saw existing in both of you to fully emerge and blossom into something gloriously beautiful and true... but I didn't give her up, not fully. Ensuring her happiness meant that I didn't have to do that. The core of my relationship with Molly remains."

"The friendship," Greg said, nodding. "I understand now."

Sherlock smiled warmly at Greg, knowing the DI could sometimes speak volumes with few words. With a mutual nod towards each other, the two men returned to their comfortable, companionable silence.


	3. What Sally Missed

_My first writing of Sally Donovan, and she seems to fit the "Missed" theme that my plot bunnies are hopping towards in the first chapters of this drabbles collection. I hope I do her justice._

* * *

 _ **What Sally Missed**_

 ** _Genre:_** _General_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sally Donovan, background Sherlock and Greg_

* * *

Sally Donovan was missing someone.

Ever since Sherlock Holmes, aka The Freak, had had his even freakier sister return from the secret compartment in his mind palace that was reserved for hiding things best left forgotten, he had been different.

Ever since the revelation of his childhood best friend, and the affirmation of his rock solid bond of brotherly friendship with John Watson – himself subjected to trial in deep waters – Sherlock had changed.

He was more… _human_.

Sally missed The Freak.

She no longer suspected him of nefarious and frankly dodgy behavior at crime scenes. Now he was just… _there_. Doing what he did, doing it well, and moving on. She was beginning to not mind him so much, beginning to trust him.

Or at the very least, not _mistrust_ him.

He was still making his deductions, interfering, being a general purpose pain in the ass git, probably contaminating crime scenes… but something was missing.

The Freak was missing.

Sherlock Holmes was too… benign.

She wanted him to set her instincts on edge, to put her internal alarms on high alert. He had kept her on her toes, kept her on her game. He had reminded her why those instincts had brought her as far as they had thus far in her career with NSY.

Greg Lestrade wasn't much help. Her superior had seemed blinded by desperate trust from the moment he had started to invite Sherlock Holmes to crime scenes, but now it only seemed that Greg had, in fact, been right all along.

And that meant that _she_ had been wrong, and it galled her, made her question herself. Made her second guess the instincts she had relied upon without a single shred of self-doubt.

Then The Freak had done something truly Freakish, to her mind. He had rejected a good woman that even Sally could see he loved with all of what heart he might have to speak of, and sent her in a beeline in Greg's direction. Sally couldn't imagine giving up that sort of happiness in favour of someone else. And now Greg and Molly were not only married, but expecting, and Sally wondered even more how anyone in their right bloody mind could give something like that up so completely, without seeming to so much as blink an eye about it. And not only that, but appear to be smugly satisfied, even ecstatically happy about it. About his own missed bloody opportunity.

It only made The Freak become more obscure, and Sherlock become more human.

Freaks didn't sacrifice. Freaks were cold, selfish. Utterly unfeeling. Freaks didn't give a flying rat shit about anyone but themselves.

It was off-putting.

She _wanted_ to mistrust him again, _wanted_ her suspicions to be realized.

Instead, she found herself doing the unthinkable.

She found herself actually _liking_ him. Wanting to invite him to the pub for a pint like she would any other work mate. She wanted to get to know him, wanted to trust him the way Lestrade did, so unconditionally.

Greg had told her once many years ago, when she was first under his command, that the moment she became so jaded, so cynical that she lost her humanity, then that was the moment she needed to seriously think about changing her career path, because robots made bloody shit coppers.

Greg trusted Sherlock, liked him, was even close friends with him. Sherlock had interrupted his own life for two years in part because a gun for hire had Greg, along with two others, in his crosshairs at Jim Moriarty's orders, and only The Freak taking a swan dive - however faked it turned out to be - off of the roof of St. Bart's was enough to make those hired guns lower their muzzles, remove their clips, put their sniper rifles back in their cases, without having fired a single round.

Lestrade clearly had some kind of spidey sense going on that Sally was still missing.

Or maybe, just maybe, Sally Donovan wasn't missing it anymore.


	4. What John Missed

_It would appear that I have what probably should have been in a separate collection of Mollstrade/Lestrolly drabbles, as there is a definite theme going on here. Oh well… you know what they say about hindsight! Once the "Missed" bunnies have been purged, I can get on with the general drabbles._

* * *

 _ **What John Missed**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, John, Sherlock_

 ** _Mollstrade tie-ins:_** _The Chosen Ties that Bind, Chapter 1 'What Sherlock Missed'_

* * *

John Watson, stretched out on the couch at 221B with his dozing daughter on his lap, stared off into space, letting his mind wander at will to wherever his thoughts wished to lead it. It had been a long day at the clinic, and he was simply enjoying the simple pleasures of solitude with his little girl while Sherlock was out and Mrs. Hudson was occupied with laundry.

He suddenly found himself thinking about something that had rarely occurred to him. Bringing his hand up absently to rest on Rosie's back, he found himself caught up in reflection about the legacy of names.

Every man would love to have a namesake, someone to carry on a legacy even that small. Private honours that have little significance to anyone but those who have been honoured with, and honoured by, the bestowing of names.

Rosie, unless she kept her surname someday as many women chose to now, Watson would be a moniker that would eventually die out.

John didn't regret having a daughter by any stretch. He adored his little girl, had from the moment Sherlock had so awkwardly announced her impending arrival at his wedding to Mary. The first time he laid eyes on Rosamund Mary, he was utterly in love.

No, that Rosie hadn't been a boy had never bothered John in the least. More than likely, one day when she had children of her own, she'd choose to name one of hers after their old grandpa John.

But it did twinge him with wistful regret that he didn't have a son to take even his Christian name. It wasn't that he would saddle a baby with a name like 'Hamish', but 'John' was a good, strong, reliable name. It was one of those names that went with pretty much any name, if you had enough imagination for it.

It was a simple thing, but John found that, for as much as he loved his daughter and wouldn't trade her for a dozen sons in her place, he deeply _missed_ the idea of having a boy to take his name.

And here Greg and Molly were having twin boys, of all things – talk about a double stroke of luck for Greg Lestrade. Coming into fatherhood later than most men, he would have not one, but _two_ opportunities right out of the starting blocks, not only for his own given names but for the Lestrade family name as well. It was almost as if Greg, in his early 50's and a good 15 years Molly's senior, was making up for lost time.

Of course, nobody knew about the twins detail aside from Greg and Molly, Dr. Warburton, her grandfatherly obstetrician, and of course John – himself the Lestrade's chosen GP, and being in that capacity firmly in the loop. Not even Sherlock had figured out that bit about twins. At least, not yet.

And Sherlock, having orchestrated the Lestrade's union in the first place, would no doubt have the honour of having at least one of the boys named after him – though John was pretty sure that 'Sherlock' wouldn't likely come into play. Try as he might, his best friend couldn't seem to pawn that particular moniker off on _anyone_. Still, 'William' and 'Scott' were good names to choose from.

And so, when the blessed day finally came, and John was right there waiting with bated breath and frayed nerves for news, along with Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson, he was well and truly blown away to meet the newest additions to their chosen extended family.

When Greg emerged from Molly's room, his perpetually tanned complexion beaming with giddy relief and the purest of joy, he wasted no time escorting the trio of nervous Baker Streeters in to meet his and Molly's brand new sons.

That Sherlock would be handed a bundle unsurprisingly dubbed "Gregory Scott" wasn't much of a shock, but when Greg, the smile now permanently etched on his face, turned to him to pass over the newborn they had called "John William," John Watson thought his heart might burst on the spot.

He didn't realize it until Greg and Molly pointed it out, but the look on his face when the young lad's name was revealed to him had delighted them even more than the look on Sherlock's face to discover twins.


	5. What Greg Missed

_**What Greg Missed**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, with minor humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Mrs. Hudson_

* * *

Greg Lestrade stood in the middle of his living room, looking around at the shrinking space.

These days, he found himself feeling a bit… claustrophobic.

Greg really, _really_ missed having room to move in his own home.

He'd never tell Molly that, of course. The problem had nothing to do with her or the twins anyway. Ironically, although they were the reason his flat was suddenly far too small, they were also the only reason that living there was still bearable.

When he had first been divorced and had decided to downsize things, he had moved into a smaller flat. It was simplified, like his life seemed to suddenly be. For a man who had recently restored his state of bachelorhood, it was more than roomy enough.

Then, several months after his divorce had been finalized, he and Molly had gotten together, and it was still comfortable. Even a small space could feel empty at times, but on the nights she had spent there with him, Molly had managed to banish that lonely feeling it sometimes had.

They got engaged after a minor row, Molly having said in exasperation, "Well we might as well be married if we're going to bicker like this!"

Greg had thrown up his hands in frustration and retorted, "Well as usual, you're probably right!"

A strange and sudden calm had settled over them at that moment, the glares of exasperation morphing into gazes of stunned curiosity.

"Did I just propose to you?" Molly had said, a tiny smile beginning to break through her irritation. Well this had certainly taken an unusual turn.

Greg had paused a moment, wanting to be mad, but rapidly having trouble remembering WHY exactly they'd even been arguing. He was also having a bit of difficulty controlling the twitching at the corners of his mouth. "I think so," he finally said. "Did I just say yes?"

"Oh, my darling Gregory. I think we're engaged," Molly had giggled. Whatever the row had been about, it was quickly forgotten as the unconventional proposal and resulting engagement was celebrated in a way that left little doubt that they had definitely 'kissed and made up', and Greg and Molly had definitely decided to get married. Molly had moved in within the month, and suddenly the small flat seemed perfectly filled out.

The gradual shrinking of Greg's – and now Molly's - living space had begun with Sherlock's correct deduction that Molly was, indeed, pregnant. No sooner had they found out they were having twins, and said twins had arrived, when the living space began rapidly filling up with the associated accoutrements required for two babies.

It was suddenly something akin to, as Greg had wryly described to Mrs. Hudson one day, "ten pounds of onions in a five pound sack."

"It's getting to be claustrophobic," he said to her. Greg had stopped by 221B to talk to Sherlock about some developments in a case he had called him in to consult on. Finding Sherlock had stepped out briefly to run an errand, Mrs. Hudson had offered him a cup of tea while they waited.

"It's gotten to be so crowded in there, I have to step into the hallway to change my mind." Mrs. Hudson smiled inwardly. She had grown to love Greg for his dry sarcasm and dark sense of humour, and she hadn't seen nearly enough of either him or Molly since the boys had been born. She suspected that Sherlock, John, and Rosie missed seeing him too. Certainly Rosie was missing Molly.

"I really miss my space, Mrs. Hudson. I mean don't get me wrong, it's not Molly and the boys, it's the flat itself," he said. "It's just too small now. I really think it's time to start looking for a larger place… but Molly is so tired these days I hate to bring it up. Moving is an exhausting endeavour on a good day, and besides, I had a hard enough time finding that one."

Mrs. Hudson sat across from him, sipping on her tea and watching him play with Rosie on his lap, something else she had missed seeing lately.

And then, the idea started to form.

"Oh, don't you worry dear," she had said, mentally shaking her head to the outskirts of the whimsical idea. "I'm sure something will come up just when the time is right. Don't you worry that handsome head." Mrs. Hudson smiled at him just as the door opened, Sherlock returning from his errand. By this time, the gears were fully turning in her head.

And that was how, 5 weeks after that fateful afternoon having tea with Mrs. Hudson, Greg Lestrade came to be standing next to his wife, after having stubbed his toe for the third time that day on the change table in the boys' room, and stating that he thought it was time they upgraded their living space. And, he said with confidence, he knew just the place for them too.

When Molly had heard him out fully, she had glanced over at the stack of nappies that her husband had knocked over in his attempt to avoid cursing out the pain in his increasingly tender and abused toe in front of his sleeping sons, and stated that she absolutely, without a doubt, could not agree more.


	6. What Molly Missed

_**What Molly Missed**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Molly, Mrs. Hudson_

 ** _Mollstrade tie-ins:_** _Continues the "Missing" drabbles series in "The Chosen Ties that Bind"_

* * *

Molly Hooper-Lestrade liked boys. Really she did.

She loved them, in fact. Adored them, even.

But even for Molly, the sheer magnitude of the males to female ratio was getting to be a bit much.

She had married a gorgeous one, a certifiably dishy silver fox, after moving in with him with her cat Toby – another boy of course.

Together, she and Greg had had twins. Both boys, naturally, Gregory Scott, known as Scott, and John William, known as Johnnie.

The tropical freshwater fish in Greg's aquarium consisted of three dwarf gouramis, and four smaller top feeder fish – mollies, Greg had deliberately chosen - for neighbourly filler to keep the gouramis happy and content in the peaceful community fish tank. Every single bloody one of those fish were, not surprisingly, male. They didn't need a fry factory after all.

Molly wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to find out that the algae eaters living in the tank's "basement" were boys as well.

Molly loved all of her boys – even every one of the damned fish – but she really, really missed having a girl around.

Most specifically, Rosie Watson, and the company of another particular adult woman – Mrs. Hudson.

She found herself trying to stall Sally Donovan of all people, when she'd stop by the Lestrade flat to talk to Greg. Tried to serve her an extra cup of tea, or engage her in a continuous conversation that didn't seem to have much by way of an out for Sally.

Sally, in her own way, understood, and was patient. She didn't even mind helping Molly out with the twins for a few minutes, as long as it didn't involve changing any nappies or getting puked on. She had found that Johnnie had a spunkier personality, but little Scott was a bit more reserved. Both of the identical twins were endearing, most closely resembling Greg in their looks, although they did seem to take after Molly in smaller ways. Sally found herself preferring Scott, who was less restless and wiggly when she held him, and he seemed to like her enough. Sally Donovan wasn't much for babies, but these ones she could handle in small doses.

That suited Molly just fine. Any port in a storm, she'd say.

And then one day, a miracle appeared at her door.

Mrs. Hudson, with Rosie in tow. Molly nearly cried with joy at seeing not one, but two beloved and much-missed females – and one of them was even an adult, and not in a hurry to leave because technically she was on duty.

Ah… bliss!

Mrs. Hudson had come in, handed Rosie over, and promptly gone over to the cot to pick up the closest available boy – Johnnie, as it turned out, as Scott seemed to be deep in contented slumber.

"I just came by to see you, Molly dear it's been ages since you've been by Baker Street!"

"Oh, I know Mrs. Hudson, I've just been so tired and overwhelmed lately. Greg does his best but he does have his job to tend to as well. Honestly it wouldn't surprise me if he were even more tired than I am."

"Oh, dear me, I don't remember this flat being so… small," Mrs. Hudson suddenly said, glancing around with a concerned tsk.

"Oh… well, it wasn't to start with. Babies need a lot of stuff though. Two babies even worse. I suppose Greg wasn't counting on adding a new wife and two children to this flat when he first moved into it."

Mrs. Hudson thought back, smiling inwardly, at the idea she'd had begun to form earlier in the week when Greg had stopped by 221B.

"Well, perhaps soon you can start to look for a new place to move to. Someplace with more room. Maybe even closer to Rosie, and John and Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said sweetly. "And me, of course. I do miss you so."

Mrs. Hudson and Rosie had stayed for a couple of hours, rejuvenating Molly with a sense of true sisterhood and helping her to feel a bit less smothered by males of various species, however much she loved all of them.

She thought about Mrs. Hudson's visit while she stumbled around the tiny, crowded flat, wondering if there actually WERE any larger places available closer to Baker Street.

And on the day several weeks later, when she had heard a painful sounding thud for the third time that day, her husband's muted, muffled and frustrated attempts to avoid yelling "BOLLOCKS!" in his booming voice in the boys' room, and heard a soft whump as a pile of previously neatly stacked nappies and onesies hit the floor, Molly found herself more than ready to hear what Greg had to say when he brought up the subject of moving into a bigger flat.

He'd even had a suggestion as to where.

Molly didn't think she had ever felt this much relief.

"Well, boys," she had said later on, a twin in each arm and watching Toby harass the gouramis in the fish tank. "Looks like it's not going to be just you and me for much longer." She turned her face to place a solid, smacking kiss on first Johnnie's chubby cheek, and then Scott's, much to their giggling delight. Toby abandoned the fish and began to weave around her feet, purring and rubbing against her shins, sounding like the happiest cat in the world. Even the fish seemed livelier, darting around through the waterfall of the filter unit and playing in the bubbles from the air pump.

Molly didn't think there was a single living boy in that tiny little flat who wasn't just as happy as she was about the prospect of moving to a larger flat.

That suited Molly just fine.


	7. What Mrs Hudson Missed

_**What Mrs. Hudson Missed**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, with minor humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Ensemble_

* * *

221 Baker Street was a beehive of activity.

Downstairs, a work bee had been organized to repair and prepare the downstairs flat, 221C, in preparation for new tenants. Mrs. Hudson had decided that it was high time she got off her duff and made it habitable again. After all, she was paying taxes on the entire building, she might as well have every room in the place pull its own weight via rent income.

Sherlock was between cases, John had arranged a day off from the private practice clinic he worked at as a GP, and Greg had taken a few days of his accumulated holidays. Molly was just happy to have something productive to do with her husband, while their twins got to spend time with Rosie and Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock and John were in agreement that having everyone together was going to make for a very good day. Even Anderson and Donovan had showed up for a few hours to pitch in after shift. "Many hands make light work," Anderson had quipped, as he grabbed a corner of old carpet and begun to pull it up.

Mrs. Hudson, supervising and appointing herself babysitter of her three favourite little ones – Rosie, and the Lestrade twins, Johnnie and Scott, happily accepted help when Sherlock, having been judged by Molly to be "too damned bossy", had been unceremoniously escorted upstairs to 221B to focus his efforts on helping Mrs. Hudson.

"Really, Detective Inspector," Sherlock protested. "I hardly think that being dragged by one's ear qualifies as being "escorted". You might just as well have handcuffed me."

"Don't tempt me, Sherlock," Greg replied, with a slight gravelly growl. "Molly wants you out of 221C, and these days when Molly is happy, _I'm_ happy. And when _I'm_ happy, _everyone_ is happy."

Sherlock was tired of stripping stained wallpaper and pulling up dodgy old carpeting anyway, and Anderson was _thinking_ again, it was like fingernails down a chalkboard, he had retorted with a slight pout. Greg grinned – Mrs. Hudson wasn't the only one who had missed spending time with everyone.

When the grunt work had been completed, and John had been sent upstairs to retrieve Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, and the babies, they all stood in the living room of 221C. The flooring was fresh and new, in an appropriately durable and dark colour, the room brightened considerably by a fresh coat of paint in a cheery colour. The cupboards had been scrubbed and disinfected with Donovan's help, the loo had new fixtures installed, and the initial moving in of some of the larger items had been started.

"We'll give it a couple of days to let the paint fully dry and start to cure, then we'll help the new tenants move in," John said, contentedly cuddling a twin. "Won't we, Johnnie," he said, rumpling the boy's dark hair. The baby smiled at him and giggled, seemingly in agreement, with his father's expressive brown eyes.

Sherlock, holding Scott, looked at the boy – not quite the spitting image of Greg, but close enough to fill Molly with adoring delight and pride – and said, "Perhaps your old Uncle Sherlock will be allowed to help out this time, if your mum lets me, that is." He shifted his gaze towards Molly, who simply rolled her eyes and smiled.

Two days later, when the smaller tasks had been completed the previous day, another work bee had been organized. The furniture was moved in, the rooms set up and organized, pets brought in and carefully acclimatized, the fridge filled up with groceries. Soon enough, the kitchen itself was buzzing with activity as Mrs. Hudson and Molly busied themselves preparing a meal fit for a proper celebration.

The final touch, chosen by Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock, and John, had been purchased as a housewarming gift, and a gesture of welcome to Baker Street – a large, bright, cheerful painting of a sunflower. Molly loved it – it was the perfect final touch to make 221C Baker Street feel like home, and Greg found it to be something that suited this new home to a tee. For him, it symbolized the finalization of his own new beginning, with Molly.

Mrs. Hudson, nearly clucking with contentment as she gathered her Baker Street Gang around the Lestrade dining table, stood and raised her glass in a toast.

"To my Baker Street Boys and Girls," she said, happily, as she moved her gaze around the table – the satisfied and contented faces of everyone, Sherlock, John, Rosie… and the newly moved in Greg, Molly, Johnnie and Scott. "Together again, at last. It's about bloody time, I'd say too!"

Mrs. Hudson had desperately missed having everyone gather at Baker Street, and now, she thought to herself, she wouldn't have to miss it any more.


	8. The Old Plod and the Git

_Now that I seem to have purged the bunnies responsible for the "Missing" series that kicked off this collection, I can move forward with the random ones! Thank you to all readers who either posted a review or sent a PM with feedback, I really appreciate it!_

* * *

 _ **The Old Plod and the Git**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _None mentioned_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sherlock and Sally, Greg mentioned_

 ** _Mollstrade tie-ins:_** _The Chosen Ties that Bind "What Sally Missed"_

* * *

"You're not much fun anymore," Sally Donovan said. She made a face, steadying a blank look at Sherlock.

"Oh? Not enough of a Freak for you anymore, Donovan?" Sherlock smiled sweetly, in the most annoying way he knew to pick her ass. He was mildly disappointed to discover that it didn't seem to have the same effect that it had before Sherrinford and Musgrave. Still, it didn't hurt to keep trying.

"Well you're still a royal pain in the ass. You still bugger up crime scenes. You're still a bloody git," she said, picking up her glass and taking a pull.

"Well, I'm glad I haven't completely let you down, Sally. I do so hate to disappoint, you know." Sherlock picked up his own glass, emptying it. He gestured to the barmaid. "You ready for another round?"

"Yeah, I think so. One more before we go. Still your turn to buy anyway, might as well make the most of it," she said, laughing lightly.

Sherlock grinned at her. "You're not much fun anymore either, you know," he said. "You're not as suspicious as you used to be. It used to be such fun to aggravate you. You're losing your touch, Donovan. You're turning into a boring old plod."

"Yeah, well it's your fault, you old git. You had to go and turn…" she paused, making a face of mock disgust.

"Normal?" Sherlock offered.

"Human," Sally corrected. She glanced up at the barmaid, smiling in silent thanks, as their second round arrived, Sherlock doing the same.

"So, that last crime scene… did you get anything from that? Lestrade gave us the bum's rush when you gave him the signal to make us disappear. Still a jackass, you are, that much'll never change." Sally gave him a thoughtful look, waiting patiently.

Patience with Sherlock Holmes was something Sally had learned to have since he had changed, since she had started to realize that spidey sense that Greg seemed to possess also existed in her. She wasn't sure if it was experience, or just something she had always had and just hadn't allowed to develop yet. In any case, she appreciated it.

"Oh, plenty enough. The case wasn't really that interesting, but it got me out of the flat for a few hours at least. I left my findings with Greg. Thank you for that, by the way." Sherlock picked up his glass, holding it up to her as if to toast her.

"Thank me for what?" Sally asked, raising a confused eyebrow at him.

"For getting Greg to call me in. He knows better than to bring me in for a case that boring and unchallenging. The truth is, he had already figured it out by the time I got there." Sherlock smiled warmly, something that Sally wasn't expecting.

"I just thought… well, I know it's been slow lately and you've been getting restless. I thought maybe you might like to stretch your legs a little, is all." She shrugged her shoulders to emphasize her nonchalance.

"Well you thought correctly, Donovan. I appreciate the gesture."

"You're welcome then. You almost done? I've got early shift in the morning, we should probably head out," Sally said as she drained her glass.

"Yes, I believe so," Sherlock answered. "Your turn to buy next week. Old Plod."

Sally made a face, trying but failing to stop a friendly smile. "Same pub, same time? I look forward to it. Git."


	9. The Sensation of Survival

_A little angst ahead, Sally Donovan seems to be insinuating herself into this universe, so I'm going to see where she leads. As of now I have no plans to pair her with Sherlock but they will likely be at the very least trusted friends._

* * *

 _ **The Sensation of Survival**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _None mentioned but events and character relationships have it set firmly in my Mollstrade universe_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sally, Sherlock, Greg_

 ** _Mollstrade tie-ins:_** _The Chosen Ties that Bind "The Old Plod and the Git"_

* * *

There were fleeting images, smells, and sensations, slowly becoming stronger and more vivid, pushing themselves back to the front of Sergeant Sally Donovan's memory.

Hearing a bullet before she felt it pierce her body in a ridiculously fluke shot. The blinding pain hit her a moment later and she went down hard. No sooner had she felt the ground seemingly envelop her when she heard voices. Deep voices, familiar and comforting.

A gravelly voice of authority, shouting orders to call 999, and officer down, then stand down goddamnit, what the _hell_ are you gonna do, _SPIT AT HIM_ , the firearms unit will get the bastard - then becoming quieter, still gravelly, still deep – strong as a lion but gentle as a lamb - speaking to her in almost fatherly tones to hold on, don't you dare let go, and that's an order Sergeant.

A deep baritone voice that seemed unable to decide if it was frantic with panic or a voice of calm in the face of crisis, speaking to her in low tones, reassuring words. Calling her names – Old Plod or something like that, in a gentle yet urgent attempt to goad her into fighting back. In retrospect she would find herself unable to decide exactly who his words had been meant encourage.

Smells, familiar to her. Two distinct masculine scents. One a mixture of fading cigarette smoke, a stronger note of bergamot – most likely from the variety of tea he favoured – and that year's aftershave, an annual Christmas gift from his landlady.

The other with a hint of wood smoke, a bit more pronounced style of cologne, one he had made his signature scent and she knew well from years of working beside him, and a lingering hint of strong black coffee on his coat sleeves.

Hands on her, one on her forehead, sliding down to her cheek as the face framed by unruly black curls leaned down. Tri-coloured eyes with an ocular freckle she would know anywhere, filled with concern. Strong, nimble fingers – the fingers of a musician. His other hand assisting the other one's while fabric – perhaps a scarf she would later realize, were pressed firmly against her bullet wound to staunch the bleeding.

Another face leaning towards her, boyish features framed by silver hair, dark brown eyes ablaze with anger and determination not to let her leave them. His hands, stockier, not as slender as the other's, but strong and capable with training and concern, both focused on caring for her until the ambulance could arrive.

She knew who they were, and she felt safe with them, even facing death. Somehow she knew she'd survive this and be okay.

Greg Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes would make sure of it.


	10. Covering the Bases

_**Covering the Bases**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, with brief romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Sally_

 ** _Mollstrade tie-ins:_** _The Chosen Ties that Bind "_ _The Sensation of Survival "_

* * *

 _"_ _Are you absolutely sure, love?" Greg asked Molly as they lounged under their covers. It had been a long week for Greg, with one of his friends and subordinates, Sally Donovan, having been wounded in the line of duty 10 days prior. "You've already got your hands full between our boys and Rosie upstairs. I'm not sure it's fair to put more onto you."_

 _"_ _Of course I'm sure, Gregory. I mean yes, I'm busy, even now that we're moved in to Baker Street and with everyone's help, but I'd welcome the company. Trust me darling, I wouldn't even suggest it if I weren't sure," Molly pointed out. She wiggled closer to Greg, nuzzling his neck. She felt him shiver slightly as her breath brushed across his skin and smiled to herself. He was putty in her hands with certain wifely wiles put into practice. "Besides," Molly continued, "she gets along like a house on fire with the boys, and Rosie thinks she's the bee's knees." She tilted her head up to softly run a line of feathery kisses along his jawline, smiling as he caught his breath._

 _"_ _Well, alright. Never could say no to you, love," he said when he'd found his voice again, tightening his arms around his wife. "I'll run it past her," Greg promised. "I agree it's a good idea in theory, but whether or not Sally agrees will be another matter entirely."_

And so it came to pass, that Sergeant Sally Donovan, on a medical leave from New Scotland Yard to recover from a bullet wound, was moved into 221C Baker Street while she finished recovering from an attempt on her life. The incident had given her the closest call of her career, not to mention ruining Sherlock's favourite scarf and scaring the ever loving shit out of both him and Greg - though that wasn't something they had let sink in until they were at the hospital waiting for news from the surgeons. Only when Molly and John had arrived at St. Bart's to keep vigil with them did they allow themselves the luxury of falling apart.

"Are you sure?" Sally had asked Greg, with more than a little cautious skepticism. "Molly is okay with this?"

Greg had smiled at her warmly. "Yes, of course I'm sure. It was Molly's idea, in fact," he said to her reassuringly. "We have more than enough room at 221C for a house guest. It isn't permanent, maybe a month or six weeks or so, just until you're all healed up and back on your feet. John said it's gonna be awhile before you can return to duty but in the meantime we can make sure you heal properly before you move back into your flat."

"Well… I won't lie, the offer is tempting. Molly's got so much on her plate already though…" Sally hated to be a bother, but she'd also be lying to herself if she denied that going home and trying to manage by herself was a daunting and slightly frightening prospect.

"Well yeah, but don't forget, she's a doctor. And John's just upstairs as well, he's already our GP. You won't be lacking for medical assistance for damn sure," Greg laughed. Sally gave him a sarcastic smile and all but made a face at him. He wasn't Sherlock, after all, he may be her friend Greg, but he was also still DI Lestrade, her superior officer, and even off-duty, irreverence was uncalled for.

"Molly is a pathologist," Sally reminded him, cocking her head and giving him a smartass look. "So what, if I move into Baker Street for a month of recovery time, between Molly and John I'm looked after whether I live or die, eh?"

Greg threw his head back with a booming laugh. "Just covering all the bases," he winked. "Good to see you picked up on that. That's why I keep you around, Donovan. Quick on your feet. Glad to see you're still sharp."

Sally sighed, a soft rush of breath that was one part reservation and four parts relief. "Well, I guess I'll have to learn to live with the Git upstairs for a while," she said lightly with a wry crooked smile.

"Yeah, about that, he sent a message," Greg quipped. "Said to tell the Old Plod not to worry about a thing, he'd be by for your weekly appointments even without the pints. Said picking your ass makes his life more complete, or something like that. Said he wouldn't miss it for anything."

Sally grinned, a gleam of mischief in her eyes that Greg had seriously worried over the past week and a half if he'd ever see again. "Well, when you put it that way," the Sergeant said softly, "tell Molly that I gratefully accept the invitation. And tell Sherlock I'm holding him to that promise."


	11. The Element of Surprise

_**The Element of Surprise**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly in the background, pre-Sherlock and Sally if you squint_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sally and Sherlock, appearances by the others_

 ** _Mollstrade tie-ins:_** _Continuation of the Sally chapters_

* * *

Sally Donovan may not have had as many years with the Yard as Greg had, but still, there were few things left that could really surprise her.

Waking up in Greg and Molly's spare bedroom with her arms wrapped around Sherlock Holmes was about the only thing left, she reckoned.

That she woke up in the Lestrade's flat at 221C Baker Street wasn't a surprise. She'd been moved in while she recovered from a serious gunshot wound, on Molly's insistence. She'd fallen asleep and woken up in this bed for the past 13 days straight, in fact.

That Sherlock was in her temporary bedroom wasn't a surprise either. He often visited her from upstairs, goading her into friendly debate, bouncing theories off of her about active cases, and listening to her as she talked through her fears and bad dreams after her close call. At times, their conversation had petered out and they had simply sat in companionable silence, comfortable in each others' presence and enjoying the knowledge that they didn't always have to have something to say out loud.

The evening before, Sherlock had come downstairs after she'd texted him. There was something she needed to talk about and he was the only one she felt she could confide in. She worried that John would put on his physician's hat and analyze her, making a mountain out of a mole hill; she worried that Greg would begin to doubt her recovery progress and thus her ability to return to work in four short weeks; she worried that Molly would just worry, and the dear woman had enough on her plate as it was. Mrs. Hudson was a darling, but she could be a bit smothering at times with her mother hen instincts, especially when a friend was hurting.

So, Sherlock it was, and probably would have been anyway, had she really been honest with herself. She had begun to remember who it was who had been at her bedside every time she had begun to regain consciousness in the hospital, only to lose it again, and even a time or two, who had been holding her hand, once or twice absently stroking her hand with his thumb. That was likely, she thought, a big reason why she felt safe with him.

Sherlock had padded down the stairs in his slippers, his dressing gown casually worn over a loose t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He looked utterly opposite of the posh and prim Git she was accustomed to, and she found it suddenly, inexplicably attractive.

She had hashed out what she needed to get off of her chest, Sherlock listening intently, and then their conversation had begun to take random twists and turns, taking them late into the night. When she wanted to show him something on her tablet, she motioned for him to join her on the bed. And so he did, propped up on one of her spare pillows, long legs stretched out on top of the covers. From there, somehow, sleep had managed to claim them both, and when she woke up, she found that he had slid down in his sleep into a position more conducive to comfortable slumber, and she had rolled over towards him, draping her arms across his torso in a firm embrace, and using his chest as a pillow.

She hadn't been awake yet to see Molly and Greg peering curiously into the room at 5:30 am, when they had both been stirred from sleep by Scott protesting something or other. Molly seemed less surprised than she actually was; Greg's expression seemed to convey that maybe he hadn't quite seen everything just yet, and if this was any indication at all, his day was probably going to have overactive sense of adventure.

Nor had Sally been awake to see John at 7:45, peeking in at Molly's direction, after he and Mrs. Hudson had been concerned at Sherlock's absence from 221B – his bed unslept in and shoes and Belstaff still where he'd left them the evening before.

Sally was even more surprised to realize that her desire to remove her arms from around the Git rated somewhere between zero and nil. She was comfortable, she was warm, she felt secure – but more than that, she just felt… at home. She turned her face up carefully to study him, and found a shocking impulse to plant a small kiss under his chin, something she managed to supress just in the nick of time.

What Sally didn't know, was that Sherlock himself had woken up around 7:00 am, discovered himself firmly held down by her, and had found himself resisting a strong urge to kiss the top of her head before drifting back to sleep.

As Sherlock woke up, his entire body tensed for a few seconds as his muscles stretched reflexively. His hand moved over absently to rest on Sally's, his fingers wrapping around hers, as he opened his eyes, and he gazed down at her curiously as his focus woke up.

"Oh, good morning, Old Plod," he said with a friendly warmth, his smile seeming to express contentment.

"Good morning, Git," she said softly, smiling up at him.


	12. The Balance of Probability

_**The Balance of Probability**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship, with minor humour and a little romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Sherlock_

* * *

Greg Lestrade, of late being a man of contentment and full appreciative awareness of his good fortunes, hadn't considered that his little family might still have room to grow.

Sherlock, later on, would simply point out, "Really, Greg, don't be an idiot. You are still in full possession of your virility and Molly is yet well within her childbearing years. The balance of probability suggests that this was bound to happen again sooner or later."

It wasn't that he and Molly didn't enjoy their marriage in full – in fact, their wedded bliss, though it had always maintained a steady spark of romance, had found something of a solid reboot with their move to 221C Baker Street. Upstairs, between Sherlock, John, and Mrs Hudson, they had a trio of babysitters more than willing to take on the challenge of twin boys. In Rosie Watson, they found a playmate for little Scott and Johnnie Lestrade, with the patience of an angel and a willingness to share even her most treasured toys. Thanks to their upstairs housemates, Greg and Molly had managed to not only keep the embers glowing steadily, but on occasion they had managed full weekends of stoking the fires into a roaring blaze.

It shouldn't have surprised anyone then, least of all Greg, when Molly, on the second Sunday in June, presented him with a Father's Day gift from a particular set of offspring.

The plaster plaque, made from a craft kit and including a small stand so it may be displayed on his desk at the Yard, unsurprisingly featured several handprints. His – he now realized Molly's request on the pretense of making a birthday gift for Mrs. Hudson "from her three Baker Street Boys" had been a ruse – Molly's, the two much smaller ones, identical in size, of his sons, and the pawprint of what surely must have been the most patient and forgiving house cat in London. What caught Greg unawares, however, was the carefully drawn heart, within the borders of which had been placed a question mark.

Molly watched expectantly as her husband's face first lit up with a glowing smile, and then his eyebrows shot up, his jaw growing slightly slack as the meaning of the small drawing sunk in with a solid thud.

"You… we… how… no, I mean of course I know how, but… Molly!?" Greg finally managed to stammer.

Molly simply sat serenely, with an expression akin to the cat that had just stolen the canary. She stood up, walked over to him, and planted herself on his lap, wrapping her arms around him and planting a solid and lingering kiss.

Once he had adjusted to the idea of a third little Lestrade, Greg spent little time considering if he would prefer another son, or a daughter this time. The honest truth was, Greg was just happy that the offspring that had eluded him for so many years had actually come into existence, even if he was a little older than the average new dad. If he was really pressed for an opinion, Greg steadfastly refused to give one.

And so, when they found out what their third was – and he was grateful that it was only their third, and not their third and fourth – Sherlock, still a little bit resentful that he hadn't deduced Molly's pregnancy this time – pressed Greg for details.

"So… what are you having this time?" he asked over a light breakfast in 221B.

Greg smiled sweetly, and pulled out his game face, employed mostly when dealing with the press, but occasionally when dealing with a certain nosey consulting detective. "No comment."

"Oh, come on Greg, I know for a fact that you and Molly found out two days ago," Sherlock pressed, raising his teacup to his mouth and taking a casual sip.

"So far, he or she is healthy. That's what we're having – a healthy baby," he finally conceded, before taking a bite of his croissant.

"Ah… HE or she… so you're to have a third boy then?" Sherlock was relentless. The game was on and he was bored, Sally having recently moved out of Greg and Molly's flat after her recovery, and his downtime days now seeming to be a little bit less fulfilled somehow.

"SHE or he then," Greg replied, refusing to give in.

"I see… so you are, in fact, having a girl then."

"Sherlock, give it up, I'm not telling you what Molly and I are having. We're having a baby, that's all you need to know. Feel free to deduce it, if you'd like, I can't stop you from doing that." Greg cleared his throat, taking a pull from his coffee cup.

"You are attempting to use reverse psychology on me, Detective Inspector. It is a poorly executed attempt, but I do commend your efforts, paltry as they are," Sherlock countered, attempting to insult Greg's pride enough to make him spill the beans.

"Really. Exactly how do you figure that?" Greg's annoyance had begun to dissipate, and he found himself becoming amused at the efforts of his brilliant detective friend and neighbour.

"You said 'he or she' first, attempting to throw me off the scent, and then you countered with the truth. Or perhaps you started with the truth, knowing that I would suspect reverse psychology. Well played, my friend, well played. But you failed to remember that I would observe Molly. The loo in my flat is atop yours for the purpose of the plumbing, and the ceiling separating them is poorly insulated, so I happen to know the frequency of her bouts of morning sickness. That, coupled with the nature of her pregnancy cravings clearly suggests another boy, although the swelling of her ankles and the position of her bump suggests a girl."

Greg simply stared at him blankly, a poker face he had perfected over the years – mostly from his extensive experience interrogating suspects.

"I'm going to make my own deductions, Sherlock," Greg finally said. "Based upon my own observations of you grasping at straws and attempting to goad me into telling you, the balance of probability, as you are so fond of putting it, suggests that you have absolutely no bloody idea and you're trying to bullshit your way into either saving face or appealing to my sense of mercy and just telling you."

Sherlock sighed heavily, sitting back with a small pout. "Well, I suppose in all fairness, you have solved the odd crime over the years without my assistance," he said, his pride refusing to allow him to tell Greg outright that he was correct. "But I am very happy for you, and I will say without actually knowing if it's a girl or a boy, that for Molly's sake, I truly hope you'll have a daughter this time. Might I suggest 'Greer' for a name, it's the Scottish feminine equivalent to 'Gregory'. I think should you have a girl, it would be quite appropriate and pretty."

"And if we should happen to have a boy?" Greg asked, curiously.

"Well… 'Sherlock' is still available."


	13. Seeing and Observing

_**Seeing and Observing**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sherlock, John mentioned_

* * *

"You're wrong, you know," Greg said casually, as he walked Rosie and the twins with Sherlock.

The older man and New Scotland Yard veteran had decided that this was the right time for "that little chat" with Sherlock that he and everyone else at 221 Baker Street had seen coming for a while now. But Greg wasn't going to make it easy on Sherlock.

"About what?" Sherlock asked curiously as his eyes scanned around his surroundings, silently taking in small details – laundry on lines, the behaviours of insects scampering across the sidewalk, the smells of the vendor stands a few dozen metres awak... and countless other small things constantly surrounding them.

"I do observe, just like you do," Greg said, glancing around himself. He paused, taking note of the way the couple across the park lawn sat next to each other, their expressions, the gestures of two men in business suits and carrying satchels, the way a young child was reacting to his mother speaking to him, and countless other small details of _humanity_ that bombarded him all the time.

"You're always telling me that I see, but I don't observe… but that's just it, Sherlock. I _do_ observe, I just don't observe _things_ as well as you do. It's _people_ I pay attention to," Greg said lightly, but with a tone that Sherlock had come to recognize as the one that usually preceded "wise words of wisdom" or useful advice and insight – usually about Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled. John was like a brother – closer in age and always the playmate, a bit older, but not by much. Always ready to stir the shit pot, but far more prepared to lick the spoon and accept the consequences of his actions with grace and humility, something that Sherlock had learned from over the years from him.

Greg was more like the much older brother, or even, he thought, something of a second father figure, one more in touch with who and what he really was than his own father even was. Greg had been his protector, his advocate, and at times the only person who seemed to really give a damn about him, in those muddled years before John Watson had come into his life.

Sherlock had learned over the years in theory, but only recently in practice, after Sherrinford and Musgrave and Eurus and all of those messy little emotions that had been dredged up, that Greg Lestrade knew him far better than anyone else save for John, and when he spoke of such things, it bore listening to.

"You know, over the years Sherlock, I have seen the best and the worst that mankind has to offer to its fellow mankind. You see two people in love and you observe it by the presence or absence of objects. I observe it by the way they look at each other. Subtle gestures that give away a person's feelings and intentions. Body language."

"So what have you observed about me, then," Sherlock asked, genuinely curious now.

"Well," Greg said thoughtfully, "take you and John for example. I have never seen two so solidly straight men who were as close as you and John are. It's as if you were two halves of the same whole. But humans by their nature are quite… multi-faceted. That particular whole is simply one side of you."

Sherlock smiled, nodding. "Which particular whole is that?"

"Your sense of humanity that takes in a moral compass, a filter. The one that makes you stop a moment to consider consequences to your actions, mostly how your actions and your words will affect others," Greg answered, pausing to re-tie Rosie's shoe lace.

"I can't argue with that, there. John does complete me in many ways. I suppose it's no wonder Mrs. Hudson assumed for the longest time that John and I were a gay couple," he said, laughing. "If she ever noticed the string of girlfriends John had parading through the flat for the first few years he lived there she may have reconsidered her assessment."

"Indeed," Greg chuckled. "And then there's you and Eurus. I couldn't go by the first time I met her at Musgrave, she was too broken and too lost. But the second time, when you invited me to accompany you to Sherrinford, I could see that you completed her, as well. This sad, broken little girl who grew into a broken young woman, completed by the only family she ever really cared about. And that, in turn, completed another side of you."

Sherlock was genuinely intrigued by now. "And what side does my baby sister complete?"

"The side that exercises true compassion." Greg said no more on that, knowing that Sherlock understood quite clearly.

"Very… observant, Greg," Sherlock said. "You've seen many horrors over the years, and yet in spite of everything you know Eurus did to myself, and John and Mycroft, you still see her as broken. Not a criminal who deserves to be locked up and the key thrown away."

"Eurus has many sides as well, she just needs someone willing to care enough to look at them and help her to complete them," Greg answered. "To the casual observer, your sister is beyond help and probably doesn't even deserve to be given the time of day. To you, she's your sister, and you feel a sense of real responsibility and love towards her."

Sherlock nodded, smiling sadly. "Indeed, I do, very much so. Now I suppose you have an assessment of who completes me on other levels?"

Greg smiled. "Rosie, and to a lesser extent, Scott and Johnnie. Your need to nurture and to protect. You and John, really, are co-parenting Rosie. And in a way, Molly does the same for you as well, or you wouldn't have given her up and urged her towards me."

Sherlock nodded in agreement. "Anything else?"

Greg stopped, looking at Sherlock with a crooked grin. "Yup.

Sherlock gazed back at him expectantly. "Well?"

"Uh uh uh," Greg sing-songed, wagging a finger at him. "No learning the lesson if I give you the _all_ the answers, now is there?"

"Oh, come _on_ , Greg," Sherlock declared, cocking his head at the older man in mild annoyance and frustration.

"Sorry, Sherlock. That's one you're going to have to see for yourself. Yes, there is another way you can be completed, if you recognize it and acknowledge it, and who will accomplish it. But you _must_ see it for _yourself_ , and no other way."

"Oh, you old git," Sherlock muttered.

"Something like that," Greg simply replied, with a soft voice and a subtle, crooked smile.


	14. The Bliss of Ignorance

**The Bliss of Ignorance**

 ** _Genre:_** _Romance, Family, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, pre-Sherlock and Sally_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Scott & Johnnie in unspoken roles, Sherlock and Sally in a cameo_

* * *

"Oh, darling," Molly said, smiling warmly at Greg. "Good, you're here now. I'm just feeding the boys, perhaps Scott won't have to wait now for his dinner," she said, laughing softly turning her gaze back to the wiggling baby in the cot.

Greg smiled at his wife, eyes lit up with contentment. "Of course," he said, strolling over. He paused just a moment to admire their boys, wondering that Molly's genes hadn't shown themselves a little more prominently. Oh well, he thought, it would be fine. He'd been often enough told he was a more than a little bit dishy back in the day. He wasn't sure he believed it, but Molly especially seemed to be in agreement with it even now, in spite of his laugh lines and slowing gait and greying hair – no, sorry, Molly insisted it was silver, her "Silver Fox" she maintained steadfastly. To each their own, he thought, as he reached down to pick up the wiggling twin, it was what it was.

Cradling Scott, and glancing at Molly, now settled in a rocking chair with Johnnie, he took the few steps over to the second chair and settled in, taking the offered bottle from Molly. "Thanks, love," he said, smiling. "Now, little stinker, let's see how hungry you are, eh?" he whispered softly. They allowed themselves to become completely absorbed in the task of feeding the twins for a few minutes, sitting in contented silence.

Finally, Molly broke it. "So, you had that chat with Sherlock, did you? How did that go?"

Greg adjusted Scott in his arms as he brought himself out of the reverie of feeding his son. "About how you'd expect. He still doesn't see, of course, how could he with his head so firmly up his arse?"

"Of course he doesn't. He doesn't see people. If you held up a sign in big bold lettering that said 'You and the Old Plod fancy each other, a date wouldn't kill you' he might get it."

"He doesn't see himself, either, apparently. Just swans about in oblivion thinking he's too clever for ordinary folk to get. He doesn't get himself, that's the irony, love," Greg said thoughtfully.

"To be fair, Sally doesn't seem to fare much better. I'd have thought she'd know better, I mean she observes the way you do, she sees people. Or maybe because it's Sherlock she's in denial," Molly speculated, shifting Johnnie slightly as he began to wiggle in her grip. "I mean, she used to maintain quite adamantly that he was a freak and a psycho. She was more than ready to believe he was a fraud right before he jumped."

"Sally Donovan is a hell of a copper, but she sees what she wants to see when it comes to certain people," Greg pointed out. "She's admitted to herself that Sherlock Holmes isn't the villainous criminal she thought he was at first, she's even admitted he's a good man and that they're mates. She just won't admit that she finds him attractive and they've already moved past basic friendship. It's one thing to admit you've been wrong to other people. It's entirely another matter to admit you've been wrong to yourself."

"True that," Molly admitted. "Oh Johnnie, you were a hungry boy, weren't you,' Molly said suddenly, glancing down at the empty bottle. "Well, I think Sally Donovan sees what she wants to see when it comes to herself as well. I had a lot of time around her when she was staying here with us." Molly shifted the baby in her arms to rest him against her chest, patting his back to burp him.

"Oh darling, you should have seen her face light up whenever Sherlock would come down from his flat to see us. And his light up as well. Oh he always came on the pretense of seeing the boys, or having to talk to me about Rosie or something, but it was pretty clear to me why he was here. To be honest it would have been bloody adorable if it hadn't been so frustrating to watch. For two intelligent people, they are surprisingly thick. If ignorance really is bliss, those two are bloody over the moon."

Greg paused a moment, holding up the empty bottle he held himself. "Well, made short work of that, didn't you son," he said with amused pride. "No wonder you weigh as if you've got lead in your trousers." Scott grinned at him, waving his arms around. Greg shifted him upright, intending to burp him as well.

"No arguments there, love," Greg said to Molly. "Well, even a blind chicken finds a kernel of corn once in a while," Greg said thoughtfully. "Eventually they'll figure it out, I just hope they're not both so damned stubborn they won't do something about it when that happens. If I have to watch them slow burn for much longer I think I'm going to go mad. Life's too bloody short," he said, as he looked over at Molly and caught her eyes. "Nobody's got forever. You'd think they'd both realized that when Sally got shot." Greg winced as the boys both managed to burp up their pent up gas at the same time. "Twins. Gotta do everything in sync, don't they," he muttered with mild amusement.

Molly arose, setting Johnnie back down in the cot, Greg following behind her with Scott. Tucking them in, he placed an arm around his wife's waist and gave it a squeeze. Smiling down at the boys for a few moments, Molly finally broke her gaze from them to look up at Greg, turning herself to face him. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. "No, they don't have forever. They only have the person they want most to spend their version of it with. Their own special forevers. I'm so glad I'm spending mine with you, Gregory Joseph Lestrade."

Greg gazed down at Molly, his heart filled with love and amazement for the umpteenth time since they'd begun their relationship. He bent his head down, intending to kiss her, but she pulled back, bringing a playful finger up to rest on his lips. "Uh uh," she said, "I've got a better idea, my dishy silver fox," before bouncing up on her tip toes to kiss his forehead. "Come on, I think I fancy a little corn, don't you?" she said mischievously, leading him out the door towards their bedroom.

"Come to think of it, I am feeling a little bit peckish," Greg said, chuckling softly.

Upstairs, at the top of the staircase leading up into the living room of 221B Baker Street, as they prepared to part company for the day, a certain Old Plod and a particular Git shared an uncommonly natural and completely oblivious goodbye peck, unseen by a single living soul, including themselves.


	15. Better Late than Never

_**Okay. Here is is. I should have known that the MOMENT Sally appeared riding bareback on a plot bunny into the Mollstrade Universe that she was going to knock Sherlock for a loop and stir things up with my rabbit warren. This is my official start of DonoLock. One of the last pairings I would have ever imagined within my own writings. What can I say, I follow the damned bunnies!**_

* * *

 **Better Late than Never**

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Sherlock and Sally (official beginning to DonoLock in this universe)_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sherlock and Sally_

* * *

Sherlock Holmes approached the door of Sally Donovan's flat with the casual comfortable grace he had made his unconscious custom. It was their regular meeting night for the pub, the evening they had chosen to get together, share a couple of pints, hash out the week, and share amusing anecdotes. He had arrived to fetch her, intending to make the journey to their pub of choice together, as a proper gentleman should.

Admittedly, they had made a habit of getting together more than just once per week since Sally had been shot in the line of duty, and subsequently had spent 6 weeks recuperating with Greg and Molly at 221C Baker Street. Sherlock had been a regular visitor there, even spending nights falling asleep next to her on her bed, much to the frustration of everyone else living in the three 221 Baker Street flats.

The general consensus on that front, from 221A through to 221C, had been a deep desire for them to "shit or get off the pot", the chief obstacle being that neither Sherlock nor Sally even realized they were stuck on the loo distracted with a Reader's Digest magazine to begin with.

Sherlock waited patiently for Sally to open the door, and when she did, he smiled down at her warmly, taking in her smile, the welcoming warmth in her brown eyes, the seeming smooth and precise perfection of each of the small curls that adorned her head in a raven halo, and the bracing sound of her voice – meant to grab attention, and keep it.

None of these observations, including the form-fitted maroon dress she wore that hugged her curves in _all_ the right places and was not exactly her usual pub night attire, however, spoke of attraction to him.

Sally, herself a little more excited this time for his arrival, welcomed him in with enthusiasm. She watched him as he removed his trademark Belstaff, admired how his long, nimble fingers manipulated the fastenings, and how the scarf brushed against his loose, unruly curls as he removed it, making them even more unruly. When he glanced back at her in greeting, his tri-coloured eyes seemed to dance in the dim light of her flat, and a crooked grin adorned his face, highlighting his cheekbones.

None of these observations, however, including the voice about 12 miles deep that would send the average woman straight to carnal ecstasy, spoke of attraction to Sally, either.

"I was um, well I was thinking maybe we could stay in tonight?" Sally said hopefully, scrunching her face a bit. "Greg recommended this wine," she said, strolling over to the kitchen counter, "he said it went very well with chocolate, and then he sent me home with some of the leftover truffles Molly made for Philip's re-in-statement gathering."

Sherlock smiled, nodding approvingly. "It makes no difference to me where we meet. As a rule, there are too many… _people_ at the pub for my liking," he said, enunciating the word people a little too precisely. "This is actually preferable." Sally smiled at him, nodding in agreement. "Besides, Molly's truffles are bloody _divine_ ," he said.

(That Greg had sent Sally home with chocolate truffles and a wine recommendation, knowing full well it was her date night with Sherlock, had also most miserably failed to register.)

"Well, in that case, if you wouldn't mind opening this please?" she said, grinning and handing him a corkscrew and the bottle.

When they had settled with their wine, breathing comfortably from their glasses, ("breathe, schmeathe – it ain't drowning", Sally had said with a wink. Sherlock preferred scotch, as a rule, so it made no difference to him) Sally suddenly said, "Oh! I nearly forgot. Here," she said, handing him a gift-wrapped box. "This is for you."

Sherlock peered at her curiously, intrigued. "A gift? Why ever for? It isn't Christmas, it isn't my birthday, it isn't _your_ birthday, Mycroft hasn't saved England yet this month, and there's no other national holiday. It's only the 20th of… _oh_ …" he said, as the date sunk in.

"Six months tonight since you were shot," he said quietly, sounding almost embarrassed to have forgotten. "But you survived that, shouldn't this be _your_ celebration?"

Sally smiled. "It is, that's why we're staying in. I wanted to thank you for helping Greg save my life, and for… well for being there, for never leaving my side. I appreciated that a lot."

Sherlock said nothing, merely nodding. "Well, let's see what we have here then." He shook the package, hearing only the softest of whooshing from the item within shifting softly. He lifted it up and down, seeming to weigh it, then sniffed it. He held it up to the light, examining the wrapping and mentally noting the dimensions of the box.

"Oh just open it already, you bloody Git," Sally said, exasperated.

"Patience, Old Plod, patience," Sherlock scolded, with a smile.

Finally, he removed the wrapping and opened the box.

"Oh… my. This is… this is _beautiful_ ," he said with raw sincerity, removing a hand-knitted dark blue scarf. He examined the stitching, which featured a fine thread of burgundy to set off the blue, and the fine weight and silk fibres of the yarn that had been chosen. He took special note of the size of the stitches, indicating a small gauge of needles and thus a great deal of patience and dedication, and noting the absence of a label – confirming his initial observation that this was hand made. "This took a lot of time, whoever made it does gorgeous work," he said, admiringly.

"Um… actually, I made it," Sally said, almost bashfully. "Yours was ruined when you used it the night I was shot. I figured I owed you to replace it. And I had loads of spare time recovering, so that's how I passed it. I hope it's okay?" she said.

"Okay? It's _wonderful_ , Sally. I love it, thank you so much," he said, rising from his seat to kiss her gratefully, without even thinking about it, Sally returning the kiss reflexively.

Sally had heard of "WOW" moments from co-workers, she'd even heard of the below-the-radar relationship phenomenon known as "the slow burn", but Sherlock being Sherlock, it never even once crossed her mind that either could happen to them. But suddenly…

… Ohhhh, bollocks.

Sherlock, likewise, found it beyond his realm of consideration to think that Sally Donovan of all people, could ever inspire such feelings in him. Sally, the Old Plod. Sure, they'd made their peace after he'd returned from the dead, and then after Eurus, they'd become grudging friends. They'd even started spending time together. Then Sally had been shot and Sherlock had felt…

… Ohhhh, bollocks.

"Oh…" he said, gasping as he pulled away. Comprehension had just struck like a ton of bricks, and it stole his breath away.

So _that_ was it.

Sally, experiencing an epiphany of sorts herself, sat like a stone, holding her breath.

She suddenly realized that this was not the first time Sherlock had kissed her, nor was it the first time she'd kissed him back. In fact many times, _countless_ times by now she realized, she had initiated that friendly little peck that they hadn't even thought twice about before, during, or after its casual delivery.

"What the _hell_ , Git?" she muttered softly, as Sherlock gently took her by the arms and urged her to her feet. Their faces moved back towards each other, and their lips met in a glorious confirmation of what they had both just come to realize. What they'd finally come to see.

"Well," Sherlock said as they finally broke away from each other. Reaching up to stroke her face with is hand, he smiled at her adoringly and reached down to retrieve their glasses. "Greg will be happy at least," he teased. Sally looked at him curiously, questioning in her dark eyes.

"He gave me a rather paternal lecture about observation, telling me what he knew about who completed me." Sherlock guided Sally towards the couch, where he sat them down and swung his arm behind her in a more familiar gesture, as he told her more of the conversation he and Greg had had.

"Greg is sometimes too wise for his own good," Sally said, laughing softly, "but damned if the old bugger is _always_ worth listening to. Whatever he said to you, he was probably right. He usually is."

"I believe he is this time as well, on all counts," Sherlock said, thoughtfully, turning to kiss Sally lightly. "He told me there was someone else who completed me in another way besides the ways he mentioned, but he also told me that it was up to me to figure out who that was, and what part of myself they completed. I believe now that I have solved that."

"I think we've completed each other for quite some time," Sally said thoughtfully. "No idea why we didn't see it before now."

Sherlock turned his face towards her, pressing his lips to her temple, lingering a moment, while she closed her eyes and smiled at the sensation she'd felt before but never paid any attention to until now.

"Obvious, really," he murmured against her skin. "It's _us_ we're talking about." He brought his head back as she turned her face to look up at him. "The Old Plod and the Git. Why on _earth_ would it ever in a million years occur to us that we had fallen for each other?" Sally shivered as his voice hit that low note that she hadn't realized until now did odd things to her. "That you weren't just The Old Plod, that you were _my_ Old Plod."

"And you're not just the Git, you're _my_ Git," Sally nodded in agreement, taking his hand and kissing it lightly.

"I suspect everyone at Baker Street has had this figured out for a long time now, but I can't wait to see the faces at the Yard when word of this gets out. That is… if you _want_ word of this to get out, I mean," Sherlock said, hopefully.

"Well, I wouldn't mind it to be known to every available female there that this particular Git is spoken for. He _is_ spoken for, then?" she asked, cautiously.

"Oh yes. Most assuredly he is," Sherlock said, smiling. "Most assuredly. Better late than never, I'd say."


	16. Of Hungry Sharks and Red Herrings

_So, now that the unexpected secondary Donolock pairing has been purged from my warren of plot bunnies and established, I find myself more able to focus on the Mollstrade side of the Mollstrade Universe again. Here we go!_

* * *

 _ **Of Hungry Sharks and Red Herrings**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, with hints of romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally mentioned_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Sherlock discussed_

* * *

"I think we have a winner, then," Molly said, grinning as she absently rubbed her growing early third trimester belly. "Now, are you absolutely _sure_ about this? Once this name is on the birth certificate, there's no turning back."

Greg, reclining opposite Molly on their couch with her feet in his hands, giving them a good massage, nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. I think. _No_ I'm sure. This is it. _The_ name."

"I never thought choosing a baby name would be so difficult," Molly sighed. "The boys were just so easy to name, but this little one has been a challenge."

"Well," Greg said thoughtfully, "to be fair, 'Sherlock' is an incredibly hard name to pair the way we need it to." Greg smiled as Molly's toes suddenly curled and she gasped and moaned.

"Oh yes darling, that spot right there, it's been killing me for two days. Oh!" she gasped again, closing her eyes blissfully.

Greg smiled at his wife, once again in utter awe at what not only Molly, but women in general were willing to go through just to have families. He was fairly certain, once again, that if it were up to men to bear children, the human race would be in grave danger of becoming extinct. Greg had been through a lot in his life, even being shot at one point early in his career, but he wasn't sure he had it in him to do what Molly was doing, happily, blissfully even, voluntarily, and on purpose, for the _second_ time, no less.

"Sorry about that," he said with a smile. "You know, about this whole… bun in the oven thing." Molly responded with a little scolding kick. "I know it's not the most pleasant thing to experience. I get all the fun and you get all the work."

"Oh hush now Gregory. You know I've wanted children for a long time and you've wanted them even longer. Anyway don't fool yourself, you didn't have _all_ the fun… I've had my share of it making our children as well." She winked with a cheeky smile and a sparkle in her hazel eyes.

"Well I truly hope this one looks like you," Greg said, continuing to work his fingers around Molly's feet. "Looking like their old man works fine for the boys, but I'd hate to think of my face on our daughter. Bollocks that's a frightening thought. I'd much prefer for her to look like you, love."

"Well, time will tell, I suppose, and it will be what it will be." Secretly, Molly thought a little girl that favoured her father would be adorable, especially if she had his rather gorgeous eyes, but her sense of pride also admitted readily that having her own little doppelganger toddling around was a most wonderful thought as well. Molly understood where Greg was coming from, however. She loved that the boys favoured Greg, so she knew that he in turn would probably love for their daughter to favour her.

"What do you think Sherlock will think?" Molly said, thoughtfully, and smiling as Greg worked his way up to her aching ankles and Achilles tendon.

"I think he's going to be in for a surprise. I'm pretty sure he's still convinced we're having another boy. His deductions can't quite wrap themselves around all the mixed clues I've been feeding him. He's been snapping them up like a shark in a cloud of chum," Greg laughed heartily.

"Chum made of red herrings, no doubt! Well I can't wait to see his reaction to her name," Molly said, giggling. "He's basically named our daughter. He'll be impossible to live with for a while I think. I can't think of a more perfect name though, can you? Who would have thought it would be possible to name our baby girl after the two men who are closest to my heart?"

Greg smiled softly at this, knowing how close Sherlock and Molly remained, even after she had reconciled her feelings for him and started fresh with Greg.

"Greer Sherla," Greg said. "It is a beautiful name, I must admit. I had no idea that there even was a feminine form of Gregory. Trust Sherlock to know that! I thought he didn't like to clutter up his hard drive with useless information."

"Sherlock can be as much of a mystery as the cases he so loves to delve into and solve," Molly pointed out. "But I believe he wouldn't have considered it to be useless information if he thought he might have a chance to influence the name of our baby."

"Bloody hell, he _is_ going to be impossible. I can already see him strutting about like a peacock," Greg groaned.

"Oh, let him have his moment," Molly said as she shifted herself on the couch. "He'll likely never have children of his own, not even with Sally. This way he at least has a legacy of sorts. You know as well as anyone what it's like to believe you'll never have that," she pointed out.

"Indeed, I do," Greg said, checking his watch. "Well, my beautiful girl, I'm afraid the time has come for me to head into the Yard," he said, sounding disappointed. Molly pulled her legs back as Greg swung his feet to the floor and stood up. Taking the steps towards her, he bent down to kiss her deeply and regretfully. "I'll see you tonight," he said, as he walked towards the door. "I love you!"

"I love you too!" Molly called out to him as he closed the door behind him.


	17. Hello, Little Love

_**Hello, Little Love**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Drama, Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Ensemble, and introducing Greer Sherla Lestrade._

* * *

Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan sat in the dark car, in the passenger seat next to her boss, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.

They patiently waited in silence, accustomed to the ritual of a stakeout. This one, it seemed, was very, very close to bearing fruit, and had the potential to close a case they had worked long and hard on for more than 8 months now.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Sally's phone lit up. She hesitated – it was Sherlock, and he knew damned well that she was unavailable.

This had to be serious.

 _Where are you? G_

 _Still on stakeout. OP_

 _Greg is with you? G_

 _Yes. OP_

 _How long? G_

 _Not sure. We're closing in. OP_

 _Git? OP_

 _Sherlock darling? OP_

 _What's wrong? OP_

 _Molly's in labour. At St. Bart's. G_

 _She's early? OP_

 _John says she's close enough. Bring Greg ASAP. G_

 _ILY. G_

 _ILY2. OP_

Her phone sat quietly for a good hour, when suddenly it lit up again.

 _ETA? G_

 _Don't know. We're really close. OP_

 _How is Molly? OP_

 _Progressing quicker than average. G_

 _Does Greg know? G_

 _Not yet. OP_

 _Can he do anything for her? OP_

 _No, not yet. In John's and Warburton's hands. G_

 _She knows he's on a critical stakeout. She understands. G_

 _ILY. G_

 _ILY2. OP_

No sooner had Sally hit send when Greg gave the signal to move. Sally struggled between the impulse to tell her boss and possibly ruin the culmination of month's worth of work they'd put in on this case, and not telling him of Molly's imminent delivery. In an instant, she had made her decision, and followed his lead towards their target.

He would be pissed at her, and probably justifiably so... but as Molly still had time, he would forgive her. Greg always understood, and he always forgave.

* * *

Greg, with an immense feeling of satisfaction, passed off their suspect, now in custody and in handcuffs, to the officers who would be transporting him to the Yard for processing. No sooner had he closed the car door when he turned on Sally, his focus shifting abruptly and thoroughly.

"What's going on, Donovan? I know Sherlock was texting you and I can read you like a bloody book," he said, with a sense of urgency.

Sally only took a moment. "Follow now, talk on the way, and for God's sake please forgive me," she said, as she grabbed his arm and pulled him towards their waiting car.

* * *

When they arrived at St. Bart's, Sally dragging him mercilessly towards where she knew Sherlock waited, Greg came to a grinding halt.

"Where is she?" he asked, trying desperately to remain calm.

Sherlock, glancing at Sally as she approached him and took her place by his side, simply said, "That-a-way," gesturing down the hall. John, emerging from the lift, gestured towards Greg to follow him.

Greg hesitated only a few seconds, turning to gesture to Sherlock and Sally to follow. "Well? What the hell are you waiting for? We've a baby to meet!"

* * *

As the nervously excited pair waited in the hallway, a familiar setting for Sherlock, but a new one for Sally, they chatted casually to distract themselves while they passed the time, speculating on Mrs. Hudson faring with Scott, Johnnie, and Rosie all together - especially since 3 year old Rosie had in recent months hauled the Lestrade twins up by their elbows and taught them how to walk.

Inside Molly's room, however, a few moments of frantic activity, which had followed what seemed like excruciatingly slow progress (though John and Dr. Warburton would later point out that Molly had actually been rather time-effective this time), Greg and Molly found themselves staring at the scrunched up, and generally pissed off looking face of their newborn daughter. Molly smiled at Greg as she held her, Greg with a smile of the most awestruck amazement as he reached up to stroke her tiny cheek. When he finally found his voice, he greeted his daughter in a low baritone, saying simply, "Hello, little love."

Outside, Sally and Sherlock had come to breathless silence upon hearing the sudden strong lusty cries of the newest little Lestrade. Sherlock attempted to stand, wanting to approach the door, but Sally held him down, wrapping an arm around his waist and moving closer to him. "Not yet love," she whispered. "Soon enough."

When John emerged minutes later, he gestured for them to come in. Sherlock's eyes grew wide as he entered the room and looked upon the small one that Greg now held. Molly smiled at him, gesturing for him to approach.

"My, my, what a perfectly gorgeous little creature you are," he murmured softly. "Tell me, little one, whom do I have the immense pleasure of addressing?"

Greg, his reverie broken, glanced up. Looking to Molly, he took her cue, handing the baby over to Sherlock to meet for the first time.

"Molly and I would like to introduce you to Miss Greer Sherla Lestrade," Greg said to him with quiet pride, as Sherlock took her in his arms. He swallowed hard and then looked up at Greg, and then down towards Molly, as he heard the name, and suddenly smiling like a fool, his eyes began to tear up.

"Greer Sherla," Sherlock said as he cradled her, his voice threatening to catch. Damned those emotions Eurus had let loose anyway, they left him a sniffling fool at the most inopportune moments. "I am so very, very pleased to meet you."


	18. Tuning in the Neighbours

_A fun little fic that was inspired by an ongoing PM conversation... special shout-out and thank you to_ _ **MissD721**_ _for suggesting a method of "reveal" in Mollstrade, I had decided that I wanted to bring over this particular plot feature from Eurstrade, which is one of my favourites, but hadn't decided exactly yet how I was going to go about it._

* * *

 _ **Tuning in the Neighbours**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, with minor humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sherlock, ? ;) :P_

* * *

Sherlock sat in the living room at 221B Baker Street, quietly studying the music he held in his hands.

A new composition, but it wasn't going as planned. It lacked flow and cohesiveness – almost as if it were several pieces rolled into one.

None of that made sense to him, and it frustrated him – two things that, if left unresolved, were virtually guaranteed to spill over and drive everyone at 221 Baker Street more than a little bit off their trolley.

All except for one particular neighbour, who, unwittingly, was the cause of all the bollocksed up notes that Sherlock had recorded on his sheet.

And so, Sherlock sat, thinking, pondering, contemplating. He considered going into his mind palace, but decided that since he hadn't solved the mystery outside of that mental hard drive, he wasn't likely to find the answers within it, either.

He arose and walked into his bedroom, intending to change into something more comfortable than the form-fitted dress shirt and tailored pants he generally wore. He thought about jeans, deciding those would do, and a t-shirt. Casting off his socks, he decided that as he had no plans to go anywhere now, he might as well take his comfort level all the way to the top floor.

He sat down on his bed, still distracted with his thoughts, when suddenly he realized there was a sound – faint, coming up through the vent, from the basement.

Music?

The sound stopped and started midway through, part way through, most of the way through. Someone was practicing on an acoustic guitar, or simply mucking about with it.

Sherlock's features scrunched together as he thought about it. He closed his eyes and thought back to where he'd been when he'd been composing, realizing that the random sounds coming up through the floor of his bedroom closely matched the jumbled and nonsensical notes that had ended up on his music sheet.

Of course – obvious! The music coming through the floor had been so faint as to be subliminal, and Sherlock hadn't even realized its influence on his own efforts until now.

But where was it coming from? Obviously it was wafting up from 221C, Greg and Molly's flat, but nobody there played any instruments.

 _Did they?_

It clearly was being played live, it wasn't a recording. It was too random and haphazard, and sounded more like someone in the process of learning and perfecting rather than something that was being played all the way through with the precision of a professionally recorded track.

Although, now that he thought about it, Sherlock realized that he had already been privy to several pieces played from start to finish, ranging from classical to contemporary, with what seemed to be an impressive amount of skill - everything from strumming, to what he now realized was a process of learning the more complex fingerstyle technique.

Curious to a fault, as always, Sherlock made a decision. There was a small mystery to be solved, he was perplexed, bored, and frankly – more curious than Toby could ever be in his most feline of felinity moods.

Quietly, slowly, padding down the stairs leading to the landing, Sherlock stopped again, training his ear towards the Lestrade flat. Softly, he tiptoed his way to the door and opened it, mindful of the creak in the hinges.

That was it. That was definitely it!

Again, walking softly, he deftly pussyfooted his way to the room the sounds were coming from and stood next to the door, his back and palms flat against the wall. Listening, more than a little bit impressed, his mind flitted between enjoying the skill of the player – which was increasing with the piece by the minute – and an overwhelming curiosity as to which Lestrade exactly this mysterious talent belonged to.

Just as he was about to turn his face to peer into the room, Sherlock stopped short.

No, he wouldn't nick them just yet. Not yet. No, no, he had a much better idea.

Smiling to himself with playful mischief, Sherlock had to stop himself from giggling at the sheer genius of his random, impromptu plan to bust the surprise guitarist. Glancing at the floor to ensure there were no toys on the carpet – he'd stepped on one of the twins' rattles once and had yelped like a little girl, causing Molly to start, Greg to cuss, and Toby to sprint behind the sofa – he padded stealthily back to the doorway, letting himself out.

Once in the safety of the landing, he bounded up the stairs and back into his flat. Stopping only a moment to grab his violin, he once again made his way downstairs, into 221C, and back towards the doorway where the music drifted from.

Sherlock took a deep breath, thinking on the notes he was hearing. Raising his violin to his chin and lifting up the bow, he drew it across the strings in what was a perfect accompaniment to the guitar sounds coming from the room.

Abruptly, the guitar stopped, and a short moment later, Sherlock paused his own playing. After a few deathly silent seconds had passed, a singular, adamant phrase in an unmistakable voice erupted through the doorway.

"Ohhh… YOU BASTARD!"


	19. Loose Strings

_**Loose Strings**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, both background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg and Sherlock_

* * *

Greg glared at the doorway, waiting for the laughing face of Sherlock Holmes to appear, peeking around the edge of the door jamb. He narrowed his eyes, his left hand still loosely gripped on the neck of his guitar, his right forearm draped casually over the body.

He didn't normally mind interruptions when he was playing – generally speaking it was only Molly coming in to sit and take in the performance with a sweet, contented smile on her face. Sometimes Scott and Johnnie, recently taught how to walk by Rosie and occasionally even escorted in by the neighbouring 3 year old, would wander in.

The very young boys would sit quietly, flat on their little bums on the carpeted floor, gazing up at their dad in adoring fascination, especially if Greg decided to sing to them – which they loved more than anything in the world, it seemed. Greg never could figure that one out, but it had always seemed to work, even as newborns who would occasionally take the notion to be pissed off and inconsolable for no apparent reason other than that they _could_.

Molly liked his singing voice as well, and though Greg wouldn't dream of voicing his own opinions to her on his own vocal abilities, secretly he always thought that there was no accounting for taste and she surely must be either utterly tone deaf, or hopelessly in love with him with absolutely zero sense of objectivity.

But, Greg loved them more than anything, and if that made them happy, he would willingly do it. Just by himself, however, he would gratefully leave the singing for another day, and simply focus on his guitar and his practice time.

But this interruption was just pure sass. There was no adoring wife, no entranced little faces of his twin sons. There wasn't even the sweet blue eyed blond haired angelic gaze of Rosie Watson, mesmerized by her adored "Uncle" Greg.

There was just Sherlock Holmes.

He wasn't sure how long his friend, neighbour, and consulting pain in the ass was going to hide on the other side of the doorway, but Greg could wait. He'd been doing stakeouts for decades, and it had taught him how to have the patience of a bloody saint.

Unfortunately, Greg's irritation was quickly evaporating from the sound of Sherlock's hearty miles-deep baritone laughing like an idiot outside the doorway. As belly-laughs went, Sherlock had one, when he gave it free rein, that could make even the grumpiest curmudgeon smile and reconsider their outlook. Greg's current sense of annoyance, far from being even remotely curmudgeonly, had very little chance against Sherlock's infectious, rumbling chuckle.

Greg sighed heavily in resignation and found himself smiling by the time Sherlock turned to reveal himself in the doorway, still chuckling helplessly, his violin and bow hanging limply in his hand. Greg cocked his head and rose an amused eyebrow, brown eyes sparkling, as he regarded his neighbour standing there, face slightly downturned and his free hand curled up and resting in front of his face.

"Since when do you play the guitar, Greg!?" Sherlock finally managed to gasp out, and pausing for several seconds in order to regain a bit more composure said, "and furthermore, pray tell, am I the last to know about this wonderful gem living beneath my flat?"

Sherlock had started out with cheek, but had ended up with sincere complimentary appreciation. It took a lot to impress him when it came to music, and damned if Greg Lestrade hadn't just impressed him.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself you bloody sod," Greg chuckled. "It's my best kept secret, or at least it _was_. I've played for a few years now. I picked it up right after my divorce, a few months before Molly and I got together. I needed a distraction so this was it. It was either this or the piano, and those things are bloody hard to toss into the boot and drive out into the countryside with."

"Really, only that long? You seem to have done quite well for being a relative novice," Sherlock replied, his composure fully restored. "So besides me, and obviously Molly, who else knows?"

Greg shrugged casually. "Sally of course, I mean she lived with us for six weeks. She liked to knit on your scarf while I played, said it helped her with her knit and purl rhythm, whatever the hell that means. Rosie knows as well, there were times when Molly had her here for the day when she wouldn't settle for her nap until she'd had a little song."

Sherlock nodded. Rosie loved the violin, it made sense she'd like the guitar as well, especially when someone she loved was playing for her.

"So then… since you've just been nicked with an acoustic guitar and magical fingers, I don't suppose you'd be game to play a little with me now and then? I'd love to have someone to partner up with. Keeps things from getting boring. I don't usually get to partner with anyone unless I'm playing with Eurus, and the trips to Sherrinford don't seem often enough, really. Talent like ours is meant to be honed and shared."

"I suppose we could give that a go," Greg replied, sounding truly intrigued, but more than a little humbled by the compliment. "I've never really played with anyone before, might be good practice to have a duet partner. Play around with arrangements and such."

"Well then," Sherlock said, sounding quite satisfied, and grinning warmly. "I think we have ourselves a string duo. Now, how about if we pick up where we left off? I like to improvise and you interrupted us just to call me a bastard."

"Well, you had it coming," Greg laughed. "Right, then. Where were we?" he said, with a slight roll of his brown eyes. He shifted his hands back into position, ready for Sherlock's cue. Sherlock just grinned, bringing his violin back up to position under his chin.

"You lead," Sherlock said. "Pretend I'm not here, just do what you were doing. It's going to be bloody _marvelous!"_


	20. The Baker Street Trio

_Sunday morning bunnies... it wasn't my intention to expand any more on Greg and Sherlock's accidental musical partnership, but remembering something Sherlock said about John's singing talent while awkwardly babbling his way through, trying to mentally deduce the murder about to happen at John and Mary's wedding. And as I've also heard Martin Freeman singing somewhere on YouTube, it seemed a fitting way to round out the hobbies of this trio of friends and neighbours. Besides, John is too neglected in this universe, it's time to give him a POV!_

* * *

 _ **The Baker Street Trio**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sherlock, John_

* * *

John Watson, making his way downstairs from 221B and towards 221C, had only intended to track down Molly, wanting to talk to her about their respective work schedules so they may co-ordinate with Rosie's child minder.

He had, in no way, intended to walk in on Greg and Sherlock doing something like _that_.

He heard the notes and wondered how long he'd been kept in the dark by his best friend, and the bloke who was, by common consent, his second-best friend.

John hummed along to the tune, recognizing it immediately as "Scarborough Fair", and by the time he reached the doorway, was softly singing the words along with it.

Greg and Sherlock, completely engrossed in their practice session, hadn't even seen John in the doorway, let alone heard his contribution to their efforts.

John, his reverie increasing, increased his volume unconsciously as well. Finally Sherlock, with a curious look to Greg, who raised his eyebrow, came to a stop with Greg following almost immediately, leaving John to finish the tail ends of the verse a capella.

"Are you bloody serious?!" Greg had exclaimed with a grin. "I know Sherlock mentioned at your wedding in his best man's speech that you could sing, but I'm not sure I really believed that until now."

"Oh, don't be daft Greg," John said modestly. "Everyone can sing. Just not everyone sounds any _good_ when they sing."

"Well, you're one of those that _does_ ," Greg said with finality.

Sherlock smiled serenely at his best friend, uttering words that rarely passed through his lips – "He's right, you know." Sherlock winked for emphasis. "I've heard you many times myself, singing to Rosie. You possess a very fine tenor indeed."

"Oh, give me strength. Look, I apologize for interrupting you, really don't mind me, I'm just looking for Molly, if she's around?" John sounded regretful that he'd allowed himself to horn in on their musical bonding time.

"She's just out walking with the boys," Greg said. "Come on in John, have a little song with us while you wait, if you're in no rush?"

Sherlock stood and offered his chair, shrugging. "Playing the violin is easier from a standing position anyway," he said, gesturing for John to sit.

"Shall we pick up where we left off, or start from the beginning?" Sherlock asked, turning to Greg.

"Hmm, from the top, I think. John, when you're ready?" Greg smiled at both of his friends.

"Alright then, fine, fine, whatever," John sighed, with resignation.

John would never quite understand how he'd managed to get himself roped into something like this, but never, not even once, did he regret it, and he always enjoyed it.

And, so began the little partnership of friends, bonding in an unexpected fashion, that would soon become known simply as "The Baker Street Trio."


	21. Molly's Soundtrack

_**Molly's Soundtrack**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Romance, Friendship, Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally in the background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Molly, Greg_

 ** _Mollstrade tie-ins:_** _Tuning in the Neighbours; Loose Strings_

* * *

The first time Molly had discovered Greg's musical hobby, she had been intrigued.

She had been looking for something in their old small flat, what it was, she could no longer recall. Perhaps it was an extra blanket for the bed they shared several times per week. Or maybe she had been searching for something more benign, like a storage container, or a whisk, still stashed away in a moving box in his spare room.

That's when she had found his guitar.

It didn't have a fine layer of dust, like the other items. It was actively used, and cared for. She didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to make that deduction.

Then, after their engagement and she had officially moved in, she had heard him play, and she was fascinated.

He had played his guitar in front of her, admitting readily that he had never played in front of anyone save for his dwarf gouramis and mollies until then. Oh, and Toby. While Molly had been on shift at St. Bart's on those days when his own shifts were slightly askew from hers, and he had some time at home by himself before she arrived back, he had pulled out his guitar for a little tune or seven. Toby had seemed to approve, pussyfooting, literally, over towards Greg, "booping" his elbow in a shameless bid for a belly rub, then settling down at Greg's feet, purring all the while.

Molly had never envied her cat more in her life.

The first time Greg sang in front of her, he had seemed painfully shy, embarrassed almost, and definitely self-deprecating.

Molly had thought he had a beautiful voice, velvety almost, a surprising contrast to the deep gravelly tones he spoke with most of the time, though some of the time, she had found, he spoke in an even lower tone, his voice shifting into something that didn't even sound like him. It was all-together different, posher even, and she thought, definitely on a whole other level of sexy.

She didn't think much about the musical side of the people in her life for quite some time after that. Greg still played often, he still sang on occasion if she begged him to, but otherwise, she enjoyed what she got, and it became a part of the background landscape of who he was and the myriad of things she loved about him.

When they were married, she hadn't even realized that Sherlock and Sally Donovan even liked each other, let alone would collaborate on the song that she and Greg would hold each other so utterly obliviously for their first dance as husband and wife.

It sounded beautiful, watching the wedding video later on. Sherlock on violin and Sally stepping decidedly out of her comfort zone for Greg's sake – singing a gorgeously passionate rendition of "At Last."

In retrospect, Molly Hooper-Lestrade would realize that those moments of musical partnership between Sherlock and Sally may have been the start of their friendship – ultimately leading towards the casual contentment they now had in each other's embrace, finally acknowledged and appreciated.

Molly heard Greg's music, and she treasured it – in spite of all of his self-deprecating protestations. She valued it, and him, especially at that certain point, when there were twin baby boys who, for a time, would only be soothed by their father's music, and her emotional exhaustion had her near tears.

Greg had discovered Rosie's favourite song, not long after their move to Baker Street. Then, his strumming, and his slow but persistent foray into fingerstyle, seemed to set Sally into her own rhythm in creating a gift for the man she loved, but didn't see yet that she loved him. Molly recognized it from her own past experience with Greg, and of what she knew as "Cranial Rectal Inversion Syndrome."

In short, Sally Donovan had, for quite some time, her head up her ass. And so did Sherlock Holmes.

When they had finally sorted themselves out and, as their beloved departed Mary Watson would have said, "gotten the hell on with it", and Greg had continued to play and sing in front of her, now occasionally with Rosie as his exclusive audience, Molly had discovered her second, and what would ultimately be her final, pregnancy.

In the throes of hormones that she hated for their embarrassing insistence, yet knew she would miss when they waned in a few short months, Molly had seduced her husband shamelessly and frequently, especially if he saw fit to woo her with his guitar.

Okay, so he was just, in fact, " _playing"_ \- not, _technically_ speaking, " _wooing"_.

"Do you know what my favourite anagram is, you sexy silver fox?" she murmured from behind him, almost purring the words out of her throat directly into his ear.

The sound had made Greg stop short, the notes from his guitar coming to an abrupt halt, his focus utterly shifted.

Greg, being of sound mind and willing body, had simply set his guitar aside.

"What's that, then love?"

"Song," she said, as she moved herself to face him, bringing her hands up to hold his face. Greg rose an eyebrow and grinned, having a good general idea where her train of thought was leading, but still curious about the specifics.

"Oh?" he asked, sounding like sexy posh Greg.

"It's another way to spell "snog," she whispered, as she moved in for the prize.

Later on, she would lay next to him as he dozed, smiling and thinking about how music had become such a part of her life – starting with Sherlock, continuing with Greg, and now the little group they all called "The Baker Street Trio" – an accidental partnership born of John Watson busting Greg (who had initially been solidly nicked by Sherlock) and Sherlock practicing a contemporary duet. John, losing himself in the notes, had begun to sing along in his clear tenor, and Baker Street history had been made.

Molly's life, she realized – well, all of their lives at 221 Baker Street, if one wanted to extend it, had a soundtrack, of sorts.

And now, nearly a year later, when life had gone on with gorgeous normalcy, and families had expanded, and hearts had been acknowledged and fulfilled… and promises made and bonds made unbreakable, there was one special track left to add to that soundtrack.

An auspicious event – a very auspicious event – was pending, and it would likely involve nearly everyone who lived at that humble address.

Molly had just one obstacle – she needed to convince the two most stage-shy members of the Baker Street Trio to step outside of their comfort zone for said very special event.

Molly was confident she could do it, and so… she did.


	22. More than Words

_**More than Words**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Romance, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Molly, Greg, Sherlock, Sally, John_

 ** _Mollstrade tie-ins:_** _Tuning in the Neighbours; Loose Strings; The Baker Street Trio; Molly's Soundtrack_

* * *

"NO."

Molly knew she had her work cut out for her, but this was going to be a challenge like no other – that much was quickly becoming apparent.

"Oh darling… please… it would be SO special…"

"No. And I'm not the only one you have to convince and I'm an easier sell than John is. Seriously Molly, you know I love you but this… is a bit much, even for you."

"I'll… make it… worth your while…" she sing-songed, tracing her finger from his bottom lip down and around his chin and towards his chest. From there, she let her hand wander to the hem of his shirt, infiltrating it to caress the bare skin that lay beneath it.

Greg's eyes closed as he fought to keep his composure, and his mind made up.

"Molly Kathleen Lestrade. You are my wife, the mother of my three beautiful children, you are my soul mate, the one person who completes me. But I will not do this. Not even for you."

Greg was adamant, but Molly knew there was a weak spot somewhere. She just needed to find it.

"Alright then," she finally conceded. "By the way, Rosie is to take part, I think I mentioned that didn't I? She can be so moody sometimes and so shy. There are times when her Uncle Greg's guitar is the only thing that can make her settle into reason. Did you notice that?" she said matter of factly. "I noticed that."

Molly tried to be casual, but she wasn't quite convinced that her husband, a decades-long veteran of New Scotland Yard, and the most adept person of anyone she'd even met at reading body language, would buy what she was selling.

"And of course Scott and Johnnie are integral participants. I don't worry so much about Scott, but Johnnie can be a bit of a roving gypsy boy. You know he behaves in front of his daddy when he won't behave in front of anyone else…"

"Well, I can't help it if your son has your free spirit," Greg said, beginning to smile. "Of course mine is always well-behaved."

Molly would have had a smartass comeback for that, had she not realized that Greg's stubborn resolve was beginning to crack.

"Mine is a free-thinker, and free-thinkers are the world's movers and shakers. Johnnie is destined for greatness, darling. And your son will be right there to keep him grounded. Scott will keep him on track. But right now, you are trying to distract me, Gregory Joseph Lestrade, and I will not have it."

"Oh… it's ME who's trying to distract! Me the copper, and you the coppafeel?!" Greg said, with a grin, as his hand reached down to grasp her wrist in an attempt to reel in her efforts to "convince" him – at least, until they could move to a more appropriate setting.

He was beginning to warm up to her idea.

In fact, she was beginning to make him warm up in other ways, as well.

Molly studied him as she slowly backed him up towards their bedroom.

Check.

Mate.

* * *

"Are you INSANE?" John said, in his distinctive tone. John, who could say a thousand words with a single look. John, who could end a debate with two or three words enunciated in ways only he knew how to. John, who was quite possibly the most expressive man of few words that Molly had ever met in her life.

That was John Watson's heart, on his sleeve. He wore it like a uniform, and while he guarded it fiercely, he rarely made effort to hide it.

That would be the ace up Molly's sleeve.

"Oh come on John, I convinced Greg, and you know how hard that is. Greg doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do, and especially when it comes to THIS."

John rolled his eyes and heaved a breath. "Molly. Greg is your husband. Your methods of "convincing" are best left in the privacy of your bedroom. You do NOT have that power over me."

"No… but your best friend does, in a straight man platonic sense," Molly retorted, casually. "In fact, both of your best friends do. Greg is only willing if you are, and I KNOW you will both do so beautifully… think of it John. Can you think of a better gift?"

"Molly Lestrade. You." John stopped short, letting out an exasperated breath, short and clipped. "You," he said, pointing his finger, averting his eyes towards the floor, giving his head a half turn to the side. "Damn you anyway. I had better not regret this."

"Oh John," Molly gushed, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly. She held the bear hug for a few moments, then released him, standing back from him. "Thank you! It's going to be stunning and lovely. But there IS just one other thing…"

John rolled his eyes. He knew it. He just bloody well KNEW it.

"In all fairness, Greg will do his part, but you… well, he'll back you up, and I've heard you together myself. Oh, you're gorgeous together."

"Well. If I'm going to do this, I suppose it makes no matter which part I play. And if Greg will back me up, I guess if we go down, we go down together."

"As soldiers?" Molly asked, her heart about to burst.

"As soldiers," John said, his face as stone. And then, with a single look into her hazel eyes, he smiled.

* * *

And so it came to pass, through the hard efforts of one very determined woman who loved fiercely and determinedly, that her husband and one of his two best friends were convinced to partner up for a very special moment on a very special day.

When Sherlock and Sally, standing together in the middle of the floor, faced each other waiting for their cue, the opening notes to "More than Words" issued forth from Greg's acoustic guitar.

When the moment came, John's perfect tenor began to sing the words, and at the right spots, Greg's velvety voice came in to back him up in perfect harmony.

Greg was convinced that John's voice would render his efforts mere backup, noticed but not prominent. And that was why he was comfortable with it.

John, likewise, was convinced that Greg's guitar would do the same for him, and that was why he was willing.

And that was how they played it – each assuming that the other was the strength, and they were merely there to provide the supporting role, and for their friend, they would do this readily and gladly.

And so, to this musical partnership, convinced only by their loyalty and love for their third partner in the Trio, their mutual best friend danced his first dance as the husband to the woman whom nobody expected to find standing with him at the altar, making vows and promising to spend her life with him.

Sherlock and Sally's first dance as husband and wife. And they were being serenaded by John Watson and Greg Lestrade.

Molly stood off to the side with Mrs. Hudson, watching and admiring and loving, as her own personal soundtrack found a new song to add to itself.

She wasn't sure this album would ever truly be completed, but for now, she felt, it was close enough.


	23. Whatever Remains

_**Author's really irritated note: It would seem that is, to borrow a phrase from the Sherlock fanfic world, "cocking it up". I posted this chapter yesterday and yet it is as elusive as confirmation on a season 5. It's here, it isn't. It can't be found, it can be found. Forget the app, try the desktop. Go to my profile to get to it. Notifications - what folly! I didn't even get one that I'd updated, and as a rule a notification comes in literally within about 20 seconds of posting! So I'm going to try deleting it and posting again and see if it will show up then. I apologize to my reader (I honestly think I only have one with this one) for making them think I have a new chapter up... when it's just this one again!**_

* * *

 _ **Whatever Remains**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Drama, Romance, Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Sherlock and Sally, Greg and Molly in the background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sherlock and Sally, Greer Sherla in a cameo_

* * *

The evening was quiet, and Sherlock and Sally sat in the living room of 221B, a rare evening of silent peace amongst the typical chaos, in spite of a soundly sleeping Greer Sherla in Sally's arms. Their wedding had been less than a month prior, and they were utterly content.

"Does it bother you that I didn't take your name?" Sally asked, softly, from her favourite spot in Sherlock's arms, the three creating a sort of Russian nesting dolls effect.

"What? Oh of course not my darling. I didn't marry you to carry on the Holmes name, I married you because you complete me… and Greg and Molly would never let me hear the end of it if I didn't." Sherlock smiled as he tightened his grip subtly.

Sally laughed quietly, the light from the roaring fireplace softening her features. "Yeah. Greg and Molly. And Mrs. Hudson and John and Anderson… Gregson, Dimmock... who else… oh probably Mycroft as well, Anthea for sure, though she'd text her disdain before she'd bother to voice it out loud... And judging by the silly smiles Rosie gave us all the time, I suspect she knew too. Says an awful bloody lot about how thick we both were when a four year old can see things we can't."

Sherlock smiled, not wanting to laugh lest he wake up Greg and Molly's sleeping daughter. "Rosie is an exceptionally clever child. She sees as well as observes. I pity any teachers she encounters when she begins school." He paused, an unseen light shining in his eyes. "That looks good on you, by the way."

"What does, love?" Sally asked curiously, turning her face towards her husband, at least, as far as she could in that position.

"Sherla. You're a natural with her. The boys maybe not so much…" Sherlock chuckled softly and cleared his throat, preferring to refer to Greer by her middle name.

"Well, Greer doesn't make me play dodge ball with random streams of pee either," Sally pointed out. "She's a very good girl," she whispered softly, turning to the baby.

"Do you suppose you'd like to have one of our own, someday? I mean, if it's even possible?" Sherlock asked, sounding hesitant to broach the subject. "Please don't misunderstand, love, I didn't marry you because I wanted someone to give me an heir to the Holmes name, either," he suddenly said, worried she may take his words in the wrong way.

"I don't know," she replied, after a moment's hesitation. "I haven't really thought about it much. That bullet fragment did a lot of damage. The doctor said it wasn't impossible, though. Just… maybe a bit improbable. I suppose I've felt it best not to get my hopes up."

Sherlock said nothing to this, bringing his hand up to stroke her curls, always looking like perfectly organized chaos – something that had order and reason in spite of looking, to the casual observer, as though it had a life of its own that nobody, least of all Sally, could control. He loved that about her, how it didn't matter how concentrated his efforts were to muss her hair, it never looked bad. Briefly, he wondered if any children they may have would have her freckles as well as her dark brown eyes – Sherlock assumed that the very fundamentals of dominant and recessive genes would dictate that any of their future children to be decidedly brown-eyed. The thought warmed him nearly as much as the visual of the comforting fire in the fireplace and the body heat that radiated off the woman he held so easily in his arms.

"Your hopes up?" Sherlock finally said, as he reached his hand around to softly stroke Greer's cheek. "So… you would be agreeable to it should we ever happen to find ourselves pending parenthood?"

Sally didn't hesitate. "Of course I'd be agreeable to it. I may not seem the mothering type at first glance, but what can I say, Rosie and these three little Lestrade rugrats have reformed me. Greer is a sweetheart, she's such a good baby, and of the twins Scott was the one least likely to try to use my blouse for target practice," she laughed softly. "Besides, I know I would feel a lot differently towards one of our own. I already feel differently towards the brood here at 221 than I do about any other kids."

"What did your surgeon say your chances were?" Sherlock asked, curiously. They hadn't really discussed any of this until now, he suddenly realized.

"Conceiving shouldn't be an issue. Carrying might be. He emphasized that it wasn't impossible, just… it may be a challenge," Sally said. "He didn't caution against it, he just warned that it may be emotionally taxing if I have trouble."

"Well my darling wife, you know what I always say about impossibilities and improbabilities," Sherlock said, nuzzling Sally's ear. "Realities are all that remain when whatever is improbable has been sifted away from the impossible."

"So an improbable baby could be a reality then," Sally said, smiling as Sherlock kissed her temple, "never thought I'd hear you sounding so optimistic about anything. So much for the cold hard reason you hold so dear."

"Well, I hold other things dear to me now. What Eurus taketh away, Eurus gaveth back. Mycroft always said I was an emotional child. I've always known how to hope." Sherlock took a deep breath, letting it out softly. Sally smiled at the whispery sensation against her skin.

"Sally," Sherlock said, his tone changing only slightly. Sally turned her face again towards her husband.

"I'm willing to try, but only if you are. I realize this could be a long road and there are no guarantees you would be able to avoid miscarriage. I love you and you alone, first and foremost. I leave this decision entirely in your hands."

"Well, I think I'd like to try," Sally answered, as she shifted Greer in her arms. "Best case, we add to the brood here. Worst case, we make do being Auntie and Uncle to everyone else's offspring," she laughed softly. "Whatever remains will be."

Sherlock smiled to himself as he spoke. "Yes, my love. Whatever remains."


	24. Easier Said Than Done

**_Author's note: Just a small heads up that this story has a background case which, while in no way graphic, involves a disturbing situation. This story, in a sense, is also a tribute to the strength and dedication of law enforcement officers all over the world. I can only begin to imagine some of the things they see and experience every single day in the course of their duties, but I am always grateful for their dedication and to their strength of character and resolve "To Serve and to Protect". To these men and women in uniform and in plain-clothes, I salute you, and I thank you._**

* * *

 _ **Easier Said than Done**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Angst, Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Ensemble_

* * *

Greg sat quietly in the nursery with Greer resting comfortably in his arms. He said nothing to her as she finished her bottle, simply gazing down at her with eyes roiling with emotion that he was too exhausted to keep reined in any longer, and only whispered "Sorry, Little Love," as an errant tear fell and landed on her cheek. Gently, he brushed it away apologetically.

When he held her to burp her, he had to stop himself from holding her too tightly.

It had been a bad day at work.

A very, VERY bad day.

When Sherlock had arrived at the door to 221C, Greg hadn't questioned why Rosie needed a random play date with Johnnie and Scott at 9:30 pm. He had simply smiled, knowing full well the real reasons for the evening visit. He had smiled at Sherlock, grateful that his friend was finally developing the ability to notice emotional needs in his loved ones. Greg knew full well that it wasn't Rosie who needed to borrow the twins – it was Sherlock, and most of all, Sally.

Just as he was settling Greer down to sleep in her cot, he heard the door open. He finished what he was doing, then quietly padded out into the living room. Molly stood, looking at him with an expression of pure anguish and emotional exhaustion, clearly standing on the edge of falling apart with precarious footing indeed.

Greg looked at her with eyes still rimmed red from cathartic tears only just stopped, and without a word, opened his arms to Molly. With a few long strides, she was in his embrace and he was catching her as she fell into emotional abyss.

All Molly really wanted – all she needed – that night was to be held, and all Greg wanted – needed – was to hold her.

Upstairs in 221B, John and Sherlock had arrived home with Sally following through the door only ten minutes later.

John had gone straight to Rosie, who lay awake still, restless. The young girl was keenly tuned in to her father's emotions, and some intuition had told her that her daddy was going to need her when he got home, so she had waited, comfortable and safe in her princess pajamas, for him to appear in her doorway. She said nothing to him as she crawled out from under her covers, picking up her favourite blanket.

John didn't know how his daughter managed to always know what her old dad needed after a hard day out with Uncle Sherlock, but he was grateful for it. Rosie reached up to take John's hand, and led him out to the living room. When he sank gratefully down into his chair, she crawled into his lap and smiled up at him, now more than big enough to reach his face while she sat with him. As she went to give him a kiss on the cheek, she managed to catch the first of many tears that were beginning to fall. "It's alright," she whispered softly, "sometimes daddies need to cry too."

Sherlock had said nothing, merely leaving the flat to head downstairs. Within a few minutes, he had returned with the Lestrade boys. As he settled them into the cot in Rosie's room, he heard Sally come in, and just as Greg had done with Molly, he went out to greet her in a strong, silent embrace **.** Pulling back from him, she glanced towards the nursery with furrowed brows, and Sherlock merely smiled at her sadly. "You always know what I need, Git," she said, her voice still thick from the emotion she had finally allowed release to on her way home.

"We all need the same thing tonight, my beautiful Old Plod," he said. Taking her hand, he led her to the nursery, and when they emerged, Sherlock holding Johnnie, and Sally holding Scott, they settled on the couch, grateful for the love and protection of family and friends.

In 221A, Mrs. Hudson sat quietly with her book, and when she heard the movements in the flat above her stop, she silently set it down, and with a heavy sigh burdened with concern, she quietly made her way upstairs.

Mrs. Hudson knew nothing of the day they had all endured – of the case that had settled a dark cloud over not only Greg's CID team, but the whole of New Scotland Yard; over Molly's stricken, breaking heart in her mortuary at St. Bart's as she performed post-mortems that only her determined resolve to remain professional allowed her to do that day; over Sherlock and John, who had shown up not so much to solve the case, but to hasten its conclusion with as little adieu as possible and to loan much needed emotional support to Greg and Sally.

The day in which Mrs. Hudson's loved ones had had to track down two missing children, around Rosie's age, and their missing mother.

They had all finally been found, dead of gunshot wounds, and the hunt for their killer had quickly ensued. Before long, Greg's team with Sherlock and John's assistance, had located him – presumably the mother's domestic partner, and most likely the father of the two dead children judging by the family resemblance. But before an arrest could be made, the man had raised the gun he held to himself, and closed their case for them on the spot.

Indeed, Mrs. Hudson knew none of these details, but nor did she need to. She carefully opened the door to 221B, peeking in. She saw Rosie, asleep in her father's arms while John himself slept. She saw Sherlock and Sally, reclined together on the couch with Greg and Molly's sons, Sherlock's free hand draped protectively over Sally's baby bump. Mrs. Hudson nodded silently and sadly to herself, closing the door carefully. Making her way downstairs to 221C, she repeated her little ritual, looking in quietly and seeing Greg and Molly slumbering in each other's arms on their couch.

Mrs. Hudson knew that most of the time, her Baker Street brood managed to do what was necessary to keep their work from following them home. It was a difficult, but necessary evil in order to be able to sleep at night and continue to do what they did, every single day.

But she also knew that sometimes, "leaving it at the office" was far, far easier said, than done.


	25. Here Comes the Bride

_**Here Comes the Bride**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, with minor humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Ensemble_

* * *

"That didn't take long," Molly observed, as she settled down next to Greg on the couch upstairs in 221B. "Our wedding videographer took much longer than this to get our footage back to us."

The Lestrades had headed upstairs from their home in 221C for the first screening of Sherlock and Sally's much-anticipated wedding video. As nearly everyone assembled in the room had been in the wedding party, most of them had missed the entire picture of the "walking down the aisle" portion of the ceremony. This was their chance to finally take it in fully.

"I think Sherlock made a few casual deductions about him that made him bump us to the top of the list," Sally said. "I plead ignorance as to what was said, but whatever it was, it worked. I may have married a Git, but he's a bloody clever one." The room collectively rolled its eyes and looked away awkwardly as she turned to kiss him proudly, hearing Sherlock murmur something about his Old Plod.

"Oh wait, it's starting," Sherlock said suddenly as his eyes averted to the telly. He wrapped an arm around his bride, noting that the live background acoustic music had begun. A brief silence fell over the small group as first their officiant appeared on screen, then was followed by Sherlock, flanked by his mum on one side, and his dad on the other.

"Aw look at our little princess," Sherlock said affectionately, as Rosie appeared in the frame in a pretty little floral print dress, and executing her role as flower girl with adorable perfection. John sat quietly, chuckling to himself and admiring his little girl on the screen, as she pranced down the aisle, taking her job so very seriously.

"Oh my, here come the boys," Molly giggled. "Oh, they did so well, I was so worried too. Scott only landed on his bum once and didn't even drop the pillow," she noted. They watched as the twins strutted their stuff, Scott becoming distracted as Rosie stood at the front waving at him. As he landed on his bottom and got back up again without missing a beat, he just caught Johnnie's arm as his brother attempted to make a dash for it towards Philip Anderson, who sat at the front, sideways and facing the aisle, holding a happy wiggly baby Greer.

"Well that wasn't much of a shock," Greg said lightly, chuckling at Johnnie, the twin who had always seemed most attentive to their baby sister. "At least Scott seemed to take things quite seriously, until he was distracted by a pretty girl." He cleared his throat, raising an amused eyebrow as Molly snorted.

"Like father, like son," Molly said, giving her husband a light jab to the ribs.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft. What an unlikely pair you were, Hudders," Sherlock chuckled. Mrs. Hudson simply smiled as she appeared on the screen, escorted by Sherlock's one and only brother. They watched, slightly aghast, as Mycroft, having completed his journey up the aisle with Mrs. Hudson, took her hand and with a gentlemanly bow, kissed her hand before releasing her to take their places at the front.

"He was fine after I spiked his tea with scotch," she said casually. "Of course, that was after I caught him spiking it himself. It's hardly any wonder he was jovial. He was positively charming after that. I don't think I've seen him smile that much in the entire time I've known him. He's certainly never kissed my hand. Or anyone's that I'VE ever seen"

Sherlock couldn't disagree there. At one point he had wondered who that man was and what had he done with his aloof and starchy older brother, especially when Mycroft had taken it upon himself to "cut a rug" with every lady in the wedding party at least once, and twice as many times with his new sister-in-law.

Of course, the revelation of the scotch in the tea had done wonders to loan explanation to Mycroft's unusual behaviour.

Mycroft, for his part, knowing of the special screening that evening at 221B and aware that he was decidedly welcome to join them and very much included in that dreadful bloody footage, was not surprisingly too "busy" to attend.

The "British Government" may have been able to alter video evidence of Sherlock executing Charles Magnussen, but it held no power whatsoever over Sally Donovan's wedding footage of Mycroft appearing decidedly festive... and nor did he even dare to attempt it.

"Look, here come John and Molly," Sally said suddenly, smiling over towards her maid of honour as she appeared on screen with Sherlock's best man. "Oh love, you were gorgeous. That colour looks so good on you."

"Yeah, and Molly looked pretty nice too," John said with dry humour, prompting Molly to whack him with a sofa cushion. "Watch, watch, listen the music is getting louder, here they come!"

"I still can't believe you convinced me to walk Sally down the aisle playing a bloody guitar," Greg said to Molly. "Seriously honey, Canon fingerstyle isn't easy and you wanted me to do it in motion with a bride glued to my arm?" Greg smiled to himself at the memory of what exactly it was that Molly had done to convince him. He recalled being a particularly hard sell that day, so Molly had had to repeat her argument a few times.

Greg hadn't been the least bit surprised when Sherlock had asked John to be his best man, but when Sally had asked him to walk her down the aisle and give her away, he had been floored before he had regained his composure and accepted with a teasing crack, saying, "Oh thank God, I've been trying to get rid of you for YEARS!"

"Oh, there you are," Molly said, pointing to the screen. "You did beautifully darling. See, you CAN walk and chew gum at the same time," she teased.

"Yes, and apparently I can play a guitar and give a bride away while walking and chewing gum as well," Greg said, grinning at his wife. Sally just glanced at them and sighed happily.

"I can't believe she convinced you to do that either. Everyone knows Sherlock is musical, but you were Baker Street's best kept secret," Sally pointed out. Greg gave her a crooked smile and shook his head, thinking to himself that the title actually belonged to John Watson and his tenor vocals, before turning his attention back to the screen.

"Ah, what a stunning bride though," Sherlock said, giving Sally a loving squeeze. "I felt like the luckiest man alive that day."

"She did clean up pretty nicely," Greg noted, giving a sideways glance to Sally, who made a face at him in return.

"Well, you bloody WERE lucky, Git," Sally responded, "and as for you," she said, swinging another pillow in Greg's direction, "I hardly recognized you without your five o'clock shadow. Had to have been a special occasion if you went to the trouble of shaving."

"Well, Molly made me," Greg responded with a mock pout. "Said it wouldn't do for me to walk you down the aisle looking like I'd spent the night on a park bench with John and Sherlock sleeping off the pub crawl."

"I still say you could have whispered," John said, firing a bitter look at Greg at the memory of the morning after his own stag pub crawl with Sherlock, which had, to his retrospective dismay, been repeated the morning of Sherlock's nuptials. It hadn't been one of their more stellar moments when John had married Mary, and it sure as hell wasn't this time either when Sherlock was set to marry Sally - in spite of the fact that this time, they'd been joined by Greg for the nocturnal imbibing festivities.

If John thought either time that Greg had enjoyed seeing their misery just a smitch too much, he was probably right. Even now, he insisted that Greg's capacity to consume and metabolize alcohol more effectively than them was due to his having done it for more than a decade longer than they had. Greg pointed out that he had simply done the responsible thing and only drank one pint for every two they had slammed back.

"Well at least this time we didn't pursue the folly of 'clueing for looks' on a case whilst floor licking piss drunk, and this time we had a chaperone," Sherlock said lightly. "A designated adult." He grinned towards Greg at the memory of the novelty of having someone there who had possessed some semblance of maturity. "You know it never hurts to have someone with adulting skills who also possesses a detective rank and a warrant card. It prevents things from becoming out of hand."

"Well, don't think I wasn't acting on Sally's orders," Greg said. "Detective Inspector may outrank Detective Sergeant, but Sally Donovan as a bride outranks everyone. Have you ever seen her pissed off?" he asked, casually. "I've seen her pissed off. It's not for the faint of heart, let me tell you."

Sally rolled her eyes at her boss. They were out of pillows on the sofa, so she settled for whipping one of Rosie's stuffed toys at him. Greg caught it easily and fired it back.

"Ah, there, everyone is in place," Molly said, as she watched Greg hand his guitar to Philip, now standing with Greer held easily in one arm, and primed for assisting Greg with childcare duty. Greg remained standing in place for a few moments until asked who was giving the bride in marriage, said his line with happy ease, and gratefully sat down out of what he believed to be camera-shot, next to the re-instated forensics tech to keep the Baker Street brood wrangled.

The video continued, the ceremony continuing through the treasured rituals and vows, the procession back down the aisle with minimal incident – Rosie taking Johnnie and Scott's hands to escort them and taking it upon herself to keep them from going on the lam. Scott seemed happy to have Rosie's attention; Johnnie simply wanted to follow his daddy, who now carried Greer. The random candid shots of the guests, John's Best Man's speech - nowhere near as iconic and interesting as Sherlock's had been at his own wedding - and the first dance, serenaded by John and Greg, much to everyone's surprise but Molly's.

The small group assembled at 221B sat back with a casual air, reveling in the memories of witnessing and assisting two most unlikely friends in an most unlikely pairing, making most surprising promises to each other.


	26. What Greg Knew

_**What Greg Knew**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, with minor humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally discussed_

* * *

"Do you suppose they have any names picked out yet?" Molly asked in the dark.

She and Greg were tired but alert after their respective days at work – physically spent but mentally wired, for whatever reason. This happened now and then, and when it did, they took the opportunity to cuddle and have a good chat about whatever came up.

Some nights they were passionate lovers, insatiable with want for each other. Some nights they were the exhausted parents of three very young children, and more than sated with the joys of parenthood. But tonight, they were best friends, reveling in the joyful contentment of each other's company.

Greg yawned and flexed his arm, involuntarily tightening his arm around Molly before relaxing it again.

"Dunno love. They're going to have to think outside the Baker Street box though. I think all the obvious ones are taken now."

"Obvious ones? Like Gregory, John, William, Scott… I don't suppose they'd consider Hamish?"

Greg let a single burst of laughter out. "No. John doesn't even like that one. And before you suggest Sherlock, technically we used that one when we named our daughter. Of course, if they want to name a boy after me, they still have Graham, Gavin, Geoff…"

Molly burst into a giggle at the suggestion of all the "G" names that Sherlock had become infamous for in the years before the incidents at Sherrinford and Musgrave Hall. "Well, I suppose it depends on what they're having, doesn't it? Who knows, they haven't said yet, have they?" Molly snuggled closer to Greg as she stretched herself and yawned, her body flexing then relaxing. At the foot of the bed, Toby raised his head unseen, more than a little bit irritated at being shifted and disturbed by Molly's feet, before settling his head back down and quickly going back to sleep.

"Well. Not exactly." Greg wouldn't elaborate, but Molly knew her husband's inflections well enough by now to be suspicious.

"Not exactly, he says. What do you know, Gregory Joseph?" She raised her head from its spot on his chest, turning her face towards his.

"Nothing. Really. Officially."

"Bollocks, husband dear. Did Sally tell you something?"

"Not exactly, wife dear," was all Greg would admit to.

"Define 'not exactly', Molly said, changing her tone to something she hoped to be more convincing.

Greg wasn't difficult to convince this night, however – he was tired, and verbal acrobatics weren't really on his agenda before sleeping. "Sally showed me her ultrasound images the other day," he said.

"And how do you know how to read one of those?" Molly asked, curious. "They're not exactly clear as day, darling. They're part science, part art, part experience."

"Three ways for me to read one, love," he hinted with a tease. He was met with expectant silence, and his wife's hand brushing up his chest towards his shoulder.

"Gregory Scott," Greg said.

Molly smiled, unseen.

"John William," he continued.

Molly stifled a giggle.

"Greer Sherla," Greg finished.

"Oh…" Molly finally conceded.

"Believe it or not, a Met Detective Inspector with the Criminal Investigative Division actually does know how to retain information for later use, especially when it stems from his own children. Sally was excited, she came back on shift after taking a break for her appointment, and I happened to be the first one she came across with her images… and I picked up on a few things that her tech had already pointed out to her."

"So what are they having then?" Molly pressed, moving her hand up towards his face.

"Not my division."

"Oh you bastard," Molly giggled. "So you're not saying?"

"I leave that up to Sally and Sherlock," was all he would admit to. "Though Sally knows that I know. I think I may have impressed her a little," he said, matter of factly.

"Oh, really," Molly responded. She could have pressed for details, but decided against it, respecting Greg's desire to keep Sherlock and Sally's surprise on the mum.

She was silent for a moment before her tone became a bit more serious. "So… how are things looking this time then, did she say?"

Greg paused, smiling briefly to himself. "So far, so good. Those first two losses were hard, but this time, seems her obstetrician thinks her chances of carrying to term are better, and she's a lot further along now than she was either time before. I'll put her on desk duty if I have to this time though," he vowed.

Molly sighed softly. Watching her friends deal with their difficulties had been hard, especially when she considered what a relatively easy time she'd had of it.

"She's not going to like that much," Molly pointed out.

"Probably not," Greg conceded, "but she knows as well as I do how much she can still do from her desk. She's just too hands on to appreciate it as a rule, is all," he said.

"I think she'll understand though, won't she? I mean if it comes to that?"

"I think so. It's not going to be a suggestion from a friend. It's not going to be from Greg, it's going to be from Lestrade. She'll be ordered to if it comes to that and she won't have a choice. But I know she's excited, and she doesn't want a repeat, I don't think she'll argue much about it. Especially as she gets closer to her third trimester."

"She's honestly one of the strongest women I've ever seen. How someone can grieve a loss like that yet pick up again and allow herself to become excited and optimistic just a few months later is just… it's amazing," Molly said, nuzzling her face under Greg's and leisurely kissing the tender spot just under his jaw.

Greg smiled to himself at the affection. "If you didn't know her you'd think she was quite negative, actually. Sherlock took the losses hard himself, but he takes his cues from Sally as well," Greg said quietly. "If he sees she's happy, seems that's good enough for him." He brought his hand up to absently stroke Molly's hair. "He's easier to please than you'd think."

They lay in contented silence for a few moments, Molly thinking wistfully on how wonderful it would be to have a new baby at Baker Street. It had been a few years since 221B had been blessed with a brand new tenant.

"Greg?" Molly suddenly asked, breaking their silence.

"Yeah, love?"

"Are you happy with our little family? I mean, really, REALLY happy?" Molly seemed concerned suddenly.

"Oh, my beautiful girl," Greg laughed softly, "you and our children are so much more than I ever could have dreamed of just a few years ago. Things were dark and some blessings seemed like they'd passed me by forever. You changed all of that. Yes," he said, turning his head to kiss her forehead, letting his lips linger on her skin for a few seconds, "I am happy." He turned his face down towards hers in the dark, resting his temple on hair. "Are you?"

"Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes," she said. "I always thought I wanted three children, because two wouldn't be enough but four would be too many. Then we had twins right out of the starting blocks. Do you have any idea what a blessing it was to have two babies come out of one pregnancy?"

Greg laughed softly, stroking her arm. "I think I have a good idea."

Greg paused a moment, deciding impulsively to reveal some of what he knew, because he knew Molly would keep the confidence.

"Sally and Sherlock will too," he gently hinted.

"WHAT?!" Molly shot out, in her loudest whisper, trying to be as quiet as she could in their quiet, dark flat.

Greg said nothing, only allowing a deep rumbling chuckle to work its way up through his chest and out into the silence of the darkened room.


	27. Catching Up

_**Catching Up**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, both in the background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Molly and Sherlock_

* * *

Molly smiled at Sherlock as she watched him approach her carrying a cup of steaming hot coffee. It had been a long morning already in the lab and she really needed a pick-me-up.

Mostly though, she needed a good old fashioned catch-up visit with Sherlock. No particular reason – she just missed him, was all.

It wasn't as though they never saw each other – she and Greg lived in the basement flat at the same address Sherlock had lived in for years. It had been chance and circumstance that had brought everyone together at Baker Street, but sometimes, Molly thought, they had actually managed to visit more with each other before she and Greg had moved their growing little family into 221C.

Molly found that it really was true – the closer you lived to your friends, the less likely you were to actually spend time with them. She didn't need to wonder why that was – Greg, ever so casually wise, had pointed out that humans had an unfortunate tendency to take for granted things and people that they saw as being close enough to put off for another day – simply on the assumption that they could do that any old time and there was no rush.

Sherlock had been thinking the exact same thing. This morning, a case that Greg had brought him in on in order to verify his team's own theories had resulted in a need to, in turn, consult with Molly, and utilize some of the equipment in her lab. For Sherlock, it seemed a perfect opportunity for coffee and catching up. It wasn't as though he felt any pressing need to talk to her about anything, he quite simply missed her as well.

"You know, I swear I see that damnable cat of yours more often than I see you these days, Molly," Sherlock smiled as he handed over the steamy mug. "Why Mrs. Hudson lets him have the run of the place is beyond me. He's a detestable creature at times," he teased.

"One word, Sherlock. Mice. She caught him with a big fat one once coming out of her foyer and ever since then she worships him. Between ourselves I think she bribes him with cream and belly rubs. Toby has become Baker Street's consulting mouser."

Sherlock said nothing, simply tilting his head as he took a sip out of his own mug. "Well, I suppose even Toby has his uses. Sally seems to like him as well. What is it about women and cats, anyway? Why are they so utterly charmed by such an aloof, unfeeling creature as that?"

Molly giggled. "Oh, I really have no idea Sherlock. Really, I don't." She raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a crooked smile. "I'm sure Sally doesn't have any idea either."

"Well, Sally always has an opinion about… oh. Very funny, Molly Lestrade. How many times have I told you not to bother making jokes?" Sherlock sounded irritated, but the shine in his eyes and the grin betrayed his true context.

"So what was it about Sally that was so different from me, Sherlock?" Molly asked, as they set to work preparing the samples Sherlock had brought with him. "You pushed me towards Greg because you told me I deserved better. Why was Sally different?"

Sherlock was silent for a few moments, appearing to have left Molly's query unheard as he adjusted equipment and prepared petri dishes and slides.

"I'm not sure," Sherlock finally said, breaking the momentary silence. "I suppose Sally's heart is… I don't want to say stronger than yours, necessarily. You put up with my bullshit for years and never once did you stop loving me. That's as strong as a woman's heart can be, really."

"There are different kinds of strong in a woman's heart, Sherlock," Molly said softly. "Maybe I was just stubborn enough that it came across as strength."

Sherlock was quiet again as he pondered, taking a few moments to finish preparing his first sample for the microscope. "You let me go, Molly, when I asked you to. When I told you Greg was better for you than I could ever be. Sometimes, I believe, letting go takes just as much strength of heart as holding on." He turned and smiled softly at her, his eyes crinkling with warmth.

Molly nodded, staring off at nothing for a few seconds before glancing back up at him. She turned her attention back to her equipment before saying, "Greg is the same kind of strong as I am, I suppose. That's why we're better suited to each other than you and I ever were. While I was busy letting go of the idea of you, Greg was holding on to the idea of me." She sighed softly, allowing her attention to turn to preliminary findings that were beginning to show themselves in Sherlock's samples.

"Sally is altogether different though. She's your kind of strong, Sherlock. The kind of strong that wouldn't even let either of you see how much you loved eachother, because you both believed wholeheartedly that the entire notion was utterly absurd."

Sherlock nodded, allowing his conversation to distract him from his work. "Sally is passionately strong. She believes with passion, she angers with passion, she loves with passion. Everything she does is with such passion. I believe that serves her well on Greg's team. She can be like a dog with a bone when she gets a theory into her head," he chuckled.

"Sounds like someone else I know," Molly teased as she walked over to her lab printer. Removing the printouts, she studied them briefly before walking back towards Sherlock and handing them to him to look at. "You've done a few things yourself to protect your loved ones that the average person would never even dream of doing."

Molly paused to change her sample. "She's going to be a fiercely protective parent, you realize. She's going to be a vicious mother bear. I've watched her with the children, she'd throw herself in front of a bus to protect them, and they aren't even hers." Molly turned to Sherlock to hand him the new sample she had just prepared. "Oh Sherlock, I'm so happy and relieved that this time, things seem to be going well," she said happily.

Sherlock nodded, smiling again. "She didn't even argue with Greg when he put her on desk duty. She won't admit it to him but I think he knows damned well that she was relieved to be off her feet," he chuckled. "She made a pretense of protesting but Greg tells me the first thing she did when she sat down was kick off her shoes and smile blissfully. Their cases these past months don't involve a lot of legwork," he pointed out casually. "She would have been at her desk for much of it anyway."

"So do you have any names picked out yet?" Molly hinted slyly. She caught Sherlock's raised eyebrow and returned a mischievous smile.

"Oh, a few come to mind." He paused for effect. "We were thinking 'Michael Victor' for one. I refuse to name my son 'Mycroft' and my brother wholeheartedly agrees with me for once. He suggested Michael as a suitable substitute, and one less likely to get him beat up on the school yard. Sally likes it a lot. My wife doesn't like names that you can't find on a coffee mug, for some reason," he chuckled.

Molly smiled, thinking that Sherlock and Sally had far more baby naming sense than Sherlock's parents had ever had. "Any other names spring to mind?" Molly asked, as she casually raised her cooling coffee to her lips to take a sip.

"Grace," Sherlock said softly. "We haven't come up with a suitable middle name yet, but there can be no question that our daughter must be named Grace, after everything her mother has gone through to give her life."

"Hmmmm…" Molly pondered. "Grace Molly. Grace Martha. Grace Louise… Louise is Mrs. Hudson's middle name of course. Grace Sally, Grace Donna…" she trailed off, not sure about any of the suggestions, though she liked the idea of Mrs. Hudson being included. Molly was fairly certain that there would be no more newborns in 221 Baker Street once Sally and Sherlock brought theirs forth.

"All are reasonable," Sherlock conceded. "Molly," he said, trailing off and looking at her curiously. "This isn't common knowledge yet, John of course knows, and Greg knows as well, but I don't know if he's said anything to you or not, or if he has, how much he's mentioned. It would seem that once again a long-held belief of mine is being thoroughly browbeaten and humbled by the process of human reproduction."

Molly smiled. "The theory that it's never twins?"

Sherlock grinned proudly to himself, his eyes lowered but shining. "Yes. Once again, I am being shown that indeed, sometimes, it IS twins."

Even though she had already known that much, Molly would have thrown herself at Sherlock in a congratulatory hug if they hadn't been surrounded by open chemicals, obscenely expensive lab equipment, and irreplaceable forensics samples. "Greg did mention twins, but he wouldn't reveal gender. I know he knows, but he wouldn't say. He told me it wasn't his division when I asked him," she laughed. "He felt it wasn't his place to spoil your surprise."

"Well, I appreciate his discretion," Sherlock replied, "he is a loyal friend and true… Sally and I discussed it and well, her obstetrician and John both agree that she's far enough along now that a good result is more likely than not. We couldn't decide if we'd prefer a girl or a boy once we'd allowed ourselves to think that far ahead,' he said thoughtfully. "Of course in the end it doesn't matter, a healthy baby is really all we desire… but as it turns out, we get to have one of each in one felled swoop."

Molly turned to him, face beaming. "Sherlock, that is glorious news. Congratulations, oh my Baker Street is going to be bursting at the seams soon! It's a good thing Rosie is big enough to be in school all day now," she laughed.

Sherlock nodded happily. Yes, Baker Street was indeed going to be very close quarters soon, but if you were to ask anyone living there, they wouldn't have it any other way.


	28. The Musings of Toby Hooper

_**The Musings of Toby Hooper**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, background only_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Toby Hooper with observations of ensemble_

* * *

There is an elderly queen living in this house where I must ascend stairs to reach. She's not hard to please. Occasionally I'll consent to catch a mouse for her, for sport, and she always rewards me with utmost respect and affection.

The first time I did so, however, she shrieked, a horrible, ear-piercing sound to my sensitive ears. I simply sat and stared at her, deciding most wisely that perhaps dropping the dead creature at her feet was not the best way to go.

The second time, however, I learned that if I played it just so, she may reward me with cream, and perhaps a belly rub.

The entire incident happened quite by chance.

I knew there were quarry in the area where she dwells, and as it happened, the tom and queen I live with downstairs decided to let me out to explore.

When I heard the elderly queen shriek, I quickly dashed towards her to see if I could ascertain the problem. I found her standing on a chair, looking quite out of sorts. A quick sniff of the air and a glance towards the corner revealed it – my prey.

I've lived long, for a cat, though I'm not by any means elderly quite yet. Still, I have nonetheless seen my share of mice, and believe me when I tell you that this was by far the largest mouse I have ever happened my keen eyes upon.

He was glorious, and the game was afoot!

Springing into action, I pounced, digging my claws into it and holding it fast whilst my bite found its mark. As a rule, I like to play with them a bit for amusement once I've killed them – if I've killed them quite yet. This time, however, I felt it wiser to simply dispatch him quickly and leave it at that.

Once this task had been completed and I had dropped him near the bin for her, a most remarkable thing occurred. The elderly queen stepped down from the chair, and picking me up, proceeded to rub her cheek all over me, marking me. She then gave my chin a solid rub, which made me wiggle and purr with an embarrassing amount of bliss. Rather than setting me free, however, she proceeded to carry me into her kitchen, where she gave me a dish of the most delicious sweet cream, gently stroking my head and back all the while.

Human queens are not hard to charm, and mine is especially affectionate with me. She adopted me as a kitten and has been quite favourable to me ever since. She allows me to sleep wherever I please and frequently feeds me fish from a tin. In return, I sleep by her head and keep her warm, or on her lap when she's tired. When she's upset, I wind my way around her ankles and purr loudly. This always seems to help somewhat. When she was with kittens and would curl up on her side on her bed, her tom would sometimes roll away from her to allow me a space in between them. There, I would lay on my side and use my front paws to knead out the discomfort in her back. While I did this, her tom would scratch my ears and stroke my belly to show his appreciation.

Nobody likes a grumpy queen, least of all her tom.

Human toms can be a bit more difficult. However, the one I live with, the aforementioned tom I believe my queen, called Molly, refers to as darling, or Greg, appears to be a delightful exception. Sometimes, when she's upset with him, she will call him Gregory, but other times, she purrs at him and calls him Gregory Joseph. Not surprisingly, this behaviour has led to three kittens of varying ages – two of the same litter, in fact. They have been taught to be gentle with me, however, and they are warm sleeping companions.

This adult tom Greg doesn't seem to mind me at all, in fact he will even consent to pick me up on occasion and allow me to boop him under his chin. He doesn't seem to mind that I leave my mark all over his suit jacket by rubbing my cheeks on his shoulder and leaving him adorned with stray hairs. Any respectable cat must be sure to claim their property, after all. When he puts me down onto the floor – he never allows me to jump, he always sets me down on all four paws, quite gently in fact. A mutual respect between the toms of any household is always a good thing, and for this, he never shoos me away from the cat toy box in the living room. He calls it a "freshwater aquarium," but I see it as live entertainment.

The two toms upstairs, however, are a different matter.

The one, I've heard him referred to as Sherlock, treats me with a grudging respect at best, and outright rudeness at worst. I have learned that, when I'm bored, he is the most likely to amuse me by becoming irritated by my mere presence. Before my queen and her tom moved us to this place with their two kittens (this was well before the third arrived), it was only Molly's presence that prevented him from shoving me aside too harshly when he desired to take my resting spot.

The other one, he is called John, treats me with… not disrespect so much as aloofness. He is by far the most feline of all the toms in this place. My attempts to garner favour with him are only met with result when the young queen, I believe she is his kitten, is in the room. Rosie is what they call her, and she adores me even more than Molly does. She is always gentle with me and consents to allow me to sleep in her bed on occasion. It is Rosie, in fact, who has taught the young kittens downstairs to not pull on my tail.

There is a new queen in the flat furthest upstairs, however. She departs and returns frequently accompanied by my tom, Greg. I have gathered that they are friends and like to hunt in the same spots, as they invariably accompany each other. This new queen is called Sally by everyone here, though mostly the tom Sherlock refers to her as Old Plod, or love, and she refers to him as Git, or darling. Humans are such a strange breed of cat. She has recently become with kittens as well, though I have gathered that they haven't figured that out yet.

This new queen likes to spoil me as well, though there are times I feel she does this to tease her tom. Unfortunately, Sherlock has seemed to warm towards me ever so slightly, possibly to appease Sally, which has spoiled my fun at times.

In any case, the elderly queen, the one who gives me cream and snuggles in her kitchen, and who everyone seems to call Mrs. Hudson, allows me free rein of the place.

I suppose there are cats in the world who live a more luxurious life of pleasure and comfort than I do, but I honestly can't imagine it.


	29. The Myth of Coincidence

_**The Myth of Coincidence**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, with minor humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Sherlock and Sally, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sally, introducing OC DS Kieran Bailey, and Michael and Grace Donovan-Holmes_

* * *

Greg Lestrade remembered the moment his long-held disbelief in coincidence had been solidly confirmed.

It was the same moment he realized that all of those regularly scheduled first aid courses, which included classes on emergency childbirth, were something that he had been wise to pay attention to, even though in the back of his mind, he wanted to disregard them as a worthless paid filler, and the odds of ever needing that information were astronomically low.

When his newest team member arrived to New Scotland Yard, taking the place of Sally while she was on mat leave, and reported to him in his office, there was something about Detective Sergeant Kieran Bailey that struck a memory, somewhere in the back of Greg's mind.

He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but decided that whatever it was, it would come to him when the time was right. Perhaps it was the name… perhaps it was something about his face… or maybe it was simply something in his personnel file about Dartmoor.

"Detective Sergeant Bailey reporting for duty, Sir," Kieran had said, smiling, and perhaps unnecessarily saluting.

"Calm the formalities, Bailey," Greg smiled. "I only care that you do your job and do it well. Remember your training for now and follow my lead until you find your footing. You've already got your legs or you wouldn't be here."

Bailey smiled, relaxing somewhat. When his superior invited him to sit down, he complied. He would soon learn Greg Lestrade's ritual of having a little introductory chat with his new team members.

Over the years, Greg had learned that getting to know them a little bit before taking them out for a test drive was a wise course of action. Learning about them, their strengths and what part of the process they leaned towards had always benefitted him and allowed him to direct his team in a way that maximized both their individual skills and their effectiveness as a whole.

"Kieran, you say, eh?" Greg said. "Not a common name in these parts, is it?"

"No, Sir. Not surprisingly it's Irish," the younger man laughed nervously.

"So where are you from, Bailey?" Greg asked, sitting back in his chair, smiling warmly. "Everyone has roots, after all."

"Oh, well it's a bit of a story, Sir," he replied. "I'm from the Dartmoor area, and would you believe I was born out on the edge of Dewar's Hollow. Mum tells me it was a young off-duty uniform from London who found her when she became stranded, and when she went into labour, he delivered me. I guess he had quite the memorable holiday out there."

Greg nodded slowly, his brows furrowing. The finer details of a memory were beginning to work their way to the front of his mind.

No, it couldn't be. There was simply no way. It couldn't be possible. What were the odds?

"Indeed. Your mum," Greg said, slowly. "Her name wouldn't be Colleen, would it?"

Bailey's eyes widened briefly. "Yes, Sir. How did you…?"

"Did she happen to mention or remember the name of the young officer who delivered you?"

Kieran Bailey shook his head, thinking. "Yeah, but I don't recall it. I believe it was French, though. And she said he mentioned while they waited for the ambulance to arrive that he said he was about to take his exams to join the Met CID, though he was on holiday when he found her."

Greg nodded. "And how old are you, son?"

"Twenty-seven three months ago, Sir. Why?" Bailey was beginning to wonder at this strange line of questioning, though he had a feeling that it definitely wasn't a typical path of "getting to know my new team member" that his new boss was taking.

"Your middle name. Wouldn't happen to be Patrick, would it? Kieran Patrick Bailey, born along the treeline of Dewar's Hollow, delivered by a Met Sergeant with a French name…?"

Bailey's eyes grew wide. "Sir? Inspector Les…trade? Forgive me Sir, but… holy shit. Are you serious, Sir?"

Greg grinned as the pieces snapped together. "Serious as a heart attack, son. I've wondered over the years what became of you. Delivering babies is not a typical duty for a Met officer so we will tend to remember them. It would appear we have come full circle."

Kieran Bailey laughed out loud. "Yes, Sir, it would appear so."

And so it came to pass, that for the second time in his decades-long career, Greg's emergency childbirth classes, a part of their regular first aid certification courses, came in handy.

Only this time, it was, personally speaking, much, much closer to home.

Again, Greg was off-duty. Again, it would be memorable. And again, it would involve a member of his team – although unlike their young DS Kieran Bailey - not one whom he had been the first person to ever lay eyes upon.

Greg also swore that this was a particular view of Sergeant Sally Donovan that he never wanted to see again, and if she ever became pregnant again, to be sure he could book his holidays so as to be far, far away from London whenever she may happen to go into labour.

Sherlock liked to text. Greg was fairly certain he would be satisfied to receive the happy news that way, as opposed to the more literal "hands-on" method that he had just found himself forced into.

It wasn't that Greg regretted being the one to deliver the Donovan-Holmes twins. In fact, he was honoured to have been able to be there for Sally in her hour of need, when nobody else could be, and frankly grateful that his last re-certification course had only been 7 weeks prior to this. He was even grateful for the instructor's joke that it was the little details that counted. Like the person in charge of catching the baby remembering to breathe.

It was just that Sally's high-risk classification, coupled with being three weeks early, and that pesky power outage, not to mention Sherlock and John being stuck in a cab, in traffic, as a result of said power outage, and the mobile network being overloaded, rendering their phones all but useless… had taken the dark hue out of several of what precious few hairs he still had on his head that hadn't already gone silver.

But at least he'd remembered that helpful hint about breathing.

Actually, to be fair, he'd remembered all of the important things too, and he was sure that eventually his fingers, which he'd been sure he'd felt crack under Sally's grip while in the throes of particularly vicious contractions, would one day soon be able to play lullabies on his guitar again. Lullabies were good. Lullabies were quite honestly, bloody handy with so many infants in the house.

By the time Sherlock had managed to arrive with an ambulance, Greg and Sally sat side-by-side, each holding a twin. In Sally's arms the little gentleman, a certain young Mr. Michael Victor John Donovan-Holmes, and in Greg's arms, the young lady who had been made to wait patiently for attention while her younger brother took his time arriving – the distinguished Miss Grace Molly Louise Donovan-Holmes.

"Those handles are bigger than they are," Greg observed, softly. "I swear I haven't seen a more perfect pair of babies since my own, I must say. Well done, Donovan. Very well done."

Sally, exhausted and thoroughly spent, allowed herself the impropriety of resting her head on her boss's strong shoulder. Greg didn't mind – in this moment, he wasn't DI Lestrade, he was simply Greg, neighbour and friend. She simply hummed in agreement with him.

"Thanks, Boss," she managed to mutter. She turned her face to look at him with a tired smile.

Greg nodded in acknowledgement. "You're welcome, Donovan. Don't let this happen again though. That's an order," he said, grinning as he spied the ambulance approaching.


	30. Partners in Crime

**Partners in Crime**

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, background only_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, OC Kieran Bailey, Rosie, and introducing Julian Bailey, six year old son of Kieran_

* * *

Julian Andrew Bailey was cross. Very cross.

A girl in his class had taken the seat he wanted, and she wouldn't say why.

Even worse, she wouldn't give it back.

She was sassy and stubborn, and he didn't want to be mean just to get his chair back, especially not to a girl, because that wasn't what an honourable boy did - but she was being so unfair to him too. So he did the only thing he knew how to do – he stood his ground.

"I was here first," she retorted. "Make me move. My daddy is a soldier, and a doctor. You can't make me do anything I don't want to. I also have an uncle who is a detective and another uncle who is a policeman."

"Oh, yeah, well my daddy is a policeman too," Julian had countered. "He's a Met detective. So THERE."

Rosie Watson glared at this sassy boy.

"What kind of detective?" she asked. "My uncle is a Detective INSPECTOR."

Julian frowned. He hated it when he was bested by a GIRL, but he was a sweet boy deep down, and he couldn't bear to lie just to save face. His mummy and daddy had always taught him that he should always be honest.

"Daddy is only a Detective Sergeant," he said, casting his face downwards and sounding defeated.

"A Detective Sergeant!" Rosie declared, sounding excited, and much to little Julian's shock - impressed. "Well my Auntie is a Detective Sergeant, and she's WONDERFUL. So your daddy must be too!"

Julian perked up somewhat. "Oh, he IS wonderful. He really is. His boss is a Detective Inspector. But I can't remember his name. He's a really nice man though. He's tall and very kind, and he reminds me of a teddy bear, especially when he talks."

Somehow, the revelation that Julian Bailey's dad was a Detective Sergeant had inspired a bit more respect from Rosie Watson. At a spunky six years old, she was still of the school of thought that boys were somewhat icky, though admittedly, they were getting to be less icky all the time. Julian was different though.

"Look… you can have your seat back if you want, but only if I get to have the one right next to you," she said. She crossed her arms and levelled a look at him.

Julian smiled with bright green eyes. "Deal," he said. "Oh, my name is Julian. What's yours?"

"I'm Rosamund, but don't you dare call me that. You have to be very special to call me that. Call me Rosie instead. Good to meet you Julian, but I think I'll call you Jules, if that's okay?"

Julian held out his hand. "You can call me whatever you like, Rosie, but nobody else will be allowed to call me that. Only YOU. I think we're going to be friends, don't you?"

* * *

After the truce had been declared, they had indeed become fast friends. Nobody but Julian and Rosie realized the significance of the surprise when, one day, Julian had arrived at 221 Baker Street with his dad, DS Kieran Bailey, to talk to Greg.

"Hello, Mr. Greg," Julian had said when they arrived. Greg had crouched down to the boy's level and held out his hand.

"Good morning, little lad," had been Greg's warm reply. "So you've come with your dad today, have you?" as Julian took the offered hand and shook it solemnly.

"Yes, Mr. Greg," Julian replied politely. "Mummy is at a conference so Daddy said I could come with him as long as I behaved," he said politely. "I promise I'll be good!"

Kieran smiled as he looked on, pleased with the easy repoire his boss seemed to have with his young son.

"I know you will be, laddie. Look, my niece lives upstairs, she's about your age. Perhaps you can go play with her?" Greg and Julian both looked to Kieran for approval. With Kieran's nod of permission, Greg smiled as he went over to the open door and shouted up to Rosie to come down to 221C.

When Rosie had arrived at the door, flushed from both running and from excitement, she had stopped short with a shocked look on her face. Greg and Kieran shared an amused look as Julian returned the expression of surprise to Rosie. "You didn't tell me your daddy knew my Uncle Greg!" Rosie declared, putting her hands on her hips.

"Well, you didn't tell me your Uncle Greg was my daddy's boss," he countered.

"I think we need to talk more about this, Jules Bailey," Rosie decided. "Let's go upstairs, there aren't any fun toys down here for big kids like us. They're all baby toys."

Julian didn't need any more invitation than that. "Last one upstairs runs like a girl!" he said, as he sprinted towards the door.

"I AM a girl, you silly goose!" Rosie yelled, as she dashed after him.

"ROSAMUND, SLOW DOW…!" Greg managed, before hearing a crash out in the foyer. He winced and shook his head before smiling at the knowing look his Sergeant gave him.

"Interesting," Kieran said when the din upstairs had died down. "Julian mentioned a girl in his class. Said she was blonde and blue eyed and full of sass, but was much nicer to him after he mentioned I was a Detective Sergeant. According to him, she has an Uncle who is a Detective Inspector and an Auntie who is a Detective Sergeant. I'm guessing now that this sassy little lass my boy speaks of must be Rosie?"

"Must be," Greg said, shrugging. "Rosie has no other family with the Yard other than myself and Sally, and Julian obviously already knows her. I know Rosie's a little charmer but most boys his age don't think much of girls, so they must be friends already. She has mentioned a nice boy with green eyes. For a girl Rosie's age to call a boy 'nice' he must have made quite the impression on her. Never occurred to me she was talking about Julian though."

"You've got a lot to look forward to, Sir," Kieran said with a laugh. "Your little ones are growing so fast, before you know it they'll be deciding that girls are icky and boys are gross, then they'll be older still and deciding they were wrong after all. That's when the muck will really hit the fan. Think of Rosie as a trial run."

"She can be a trial, alright," Greg said with an amused sigh. "She's a good girl though. She has her mother's spirit and her dad's heart. And God help us all her Uncle Sherlock's sense of adventure and his insatiable curiosity."

"Well let's hope she develops your wisdom then, Sir. She sounds like a little detective in the making," Kieran observed. "Julian is a lot like Rosie then. He's so spirited. I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing just yet though. Perhaps he and Rosie will be good for each other."

"Rosie sometimes can't avoid trouble, but she never has naughty intentions. They'll either keep each other out of trouble, or they'll conspire to get into it," Greg laughed heartily.

"Partners in crime… or crime solving, let's hope!" Kieran said, chuckling himself.

Upstairs, in 221B, Julian Bailey and Rosie Watson had already settled into their first hushed conspiracy, Rosie cautioning that they had to play quietly as there were a bunch of babies sleeping in the next room, and Auntie Sally and Auntie Molly would be cross with them if they woke them up.

"Do you suppose your dad will bring you along more often now though, I mean now that he knows we're friends?" Rosie whispered excitedly.

"I hope so," Julian said thoughtfully. "I think we might have LOTS of adventures together!"

Rosie giggled. She could not agree more.


	31. Nobody Does it Better

_**Nobody Does it Better**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, with minor humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, both background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Molly, Sally, Mrs. Hudson, and introducing Emma Bailey, wife of Kieran_

* * *

"Greg's is okay, but Sherlock has mastered it. No questions," Molly said.

"He treats tea making like it's one of his experiments," Sally confirmed. "I have to agree there then. Nobody makes a better cuppa than my Git. John mostly just pours boiling water over the bag in a big mug. I prefer coffee myself though."

Emma Bailey – wife to Kieran, mum to Julian, and fast friend to the Baker Street clan - and the female contingent in particular - having joined the ladies there when she'd brought her son over to work on a homework project Julian had paired up with Rosie for, was in agreement. "Well in that case," Emma said, "Greg makes the best coffee I've ever had."

The small group of women assembled at the kitchen table in 221B were in solid agreement there.

"I've drunk Greg's coffee for years," Sally said. "The Boss has turned it into something of a fine art."

"Well," Molly said, "John makes the best hot chocolate, and biscuits as well, in my opinion." She plucked one of them off the plate in the middle of the table, taking a satisfied bite out of it. She closed her eyes with bliss. No question, John Watson had a solid grasp on the art of biscuit baking – something he had taken up when Rosie had started school and there were other little ones at 221 Baker Street to enjoy the treats. "I'd prefer it though if he didn't give it to the boys to sugar them up and then send them home, though."

"Oh, you've never had Kieran's biscuits then," Emma said with a wink. "My husband bakes a bit when he's got a day off, he likes to have things for me to pack into Julian's school lunches. And to butter up the boss when he's on duty," she laughed lightly.

"I've had Kieran's biscuits lots of times," Sally said, matter of factly. When she got a strange look, she said, "Well, Julian shares with Rosie, and sometimes she gets distracted and forgets she's brought them home." Sally cleared her throat guiltily. "What? Auntie's prerogative!"

"Fair enough," Mrs. Hudson said. "I've had them too, and it depends upon the biscuit. John makes the best oatmeal raisin, but Kieran makes a wonderful ginger nut."

"I wouldn't know that," Sally said with a sigh. "I've only tasted Kieran's butter pecan. Sherlock can sniff out a ginger nut at 500 yards and since he's the one most likely to see Rosie first after school, well I swear my husband has a sixth sense when it comes to those things."

"Well, Greg mainly cooks, he makes a great pot roast," Molly said. "I've had Sherlock's cooking though. The only thing he should be making for dinner is a reservation."

The group of women seemed to be in silent agreement.

"Sherlock means well at times but he really should stick to making tea," Mrs. Hudson said. "Cooking is more forgiving and has more of an artistic flair but that doesn't mean you can't flub it. John knows his way around the kitchen too and he's actually a very good cook, but some things he should just leave to someone else. Like pies."

"Greg could wrap a football in John's pastry and not even dent it when he's out playing in his rec league," Molly said. "It's nothing against him, he just doesn't have the touch with it, that's all."

"Come to think of it, I'm not sure any of the blokes can make a decent pie pastry," Sally said. "Sherlock's is maybe the closest when he does take a notion, but it's still rubbish. Thank God the notion is rare."

Emma nodded, giggling softly to herself. "Kieran never bothered much. He says it's too damn much work, yet he'll spend an hour to roll out biscuit dough to make ginger nuts or sugar cookies. You can't figure the logic of a man sometimes."

"Greg doesn't bake," Molly said regretfully. "Well not much anyway. He'll make scones now and then, but that's about it. Mostly he cooks a meal if he's in the kitchen. If he wants pastry for a meat pie or something, he gets me to make it. He said that requires a lady's touch," she giggled. "The truth is, I think he just likes to ogle me while I bend over the table with a rolling pin in my hands!" Sally smiled to herself - that was really the only redemptive thing about Sherlock's pastry - watching her tall drink of water husband bent over the counter.

Mrs. Hudson, snickering to herself at the cheeky mental image of the usually gentlemanly Greg Lestrade perving on his wife in the kitchen, said "Didn't he make the fairy cakes for the boys' birthday party, though?"

"Only because they were on a case and he forgot to stop at the baker's," Sally snickered. "They weren't bad, actually, but 4 year old boys seem easy enough to please if you give them sweets, and I was at a point then I would eat anything put in front of me so I'm a bloody poor judge of how they really tasted. These babies had me ravenous," she said, as she held Grace.

Molly, holding Michael, smiled at that memory. It was true, Greg really didn't bake but he'd come through in the pinch with no other choice in the matter. Molly hadn't been pleased with him for forgetting to stop to pick up a cake for their boys, so Sherlock and John had convinced him that his only reasonable course of action would be to get his arse into the kitchen and get on with it. If they had ended up a bit on the dry side, John had saved the day by remembering he had ice cream in the freezer at 221B, and had whipped up a pan of hot chocolate to wash it all down with.

"They tasted perfectly fine," Mrs. Hudson said as she reached out to grab Greer, who had awoken from her nap and taken it upon herself to go on the lam. "A little crumbly but none of the little ones cared about that, really."

Emma, rising from her chair to put her empty mug in the sink, agreed with the assessment. "I didn't have any, but apparently Greg took some to the Yard for his team. Kieran had one, he said it was good, but then he'd been on the team for all of a week and probably didn't want to offend the boss!" she giggled.

"All done, mum!" Julian said, coming out of Rosie's room, he and Rosie each escorting a Lestrade twin, both of whom were beginning to look a little tired and irritable.

"Well ladies," Emma said, "I suppose we're off then. Next time I'll see if Kieran might make biscuits for our tea time," she smiled. "Too-rah!"

"I should get these little Lestrades downstairs as well. I don't imagine Greer needs another nap but the boys are getting a bit grumpy," Molly said, as she stood up and handed Michael over to Mrs. Hudson.

Mrs. Hudson smiled at her, then glanced down at the young Mr. Holmes she held in her arms. Back in her day, men steered clear of the kitchen unless they were in there to ask their wives what was for dinner.

Times had certainly changed, and she was glad to see it. If nothing else, it certainly made for a good afternoon of fluffy conversation.


	32. A Rosa By Any Other Name

**A Rosa By Any Other Name**

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Rosie, Julian, Greg_

* * *

"I've been thinking," Julian said one day while he and Rosie were having a quiet afternoon playing detective, with Scott and Johnnie Lestrade. The four year olds, just approaching their fifth birthday, had been enthusiastic participants, even if they weren't quite old enough yet to understand completely. The Lestrade boys had powered out on them and were curled up with their restless sister Greer – under the youthful observation of Julian and Rosie, and the unobtrusive, yet diligent adult supervision of Greg Lestrade on his day off.

Greg sat back, watching his children with their friends, and reading an old Sir Arthur Conan Doyle mystery set set in the Victorian era.

"You call me Jules, and nobody else is allowed to," Julian stated solemnly. "So I've made a decision."

Rosie Watson, her determination firmly with her genes, but her heart with her best friend, crossed her arms with a smile.

"And just what is that, Jules Bailey?" she stated.

"EVERYONE calls you Rosie, so that isn't very special at ALL. And you said that only very SPECIAL people can call you Rosamund so I'm not allowed to. So I'm going to call you Rosa." Julian sounded quite firm in his conviction, just as Rosie herself had been in her decision to call her new best friend "Jules" in the first moments after they had met.

"Rosa," Rosie repeated, as she pondered it for several moments. She wouldn't admit it, as it turned out, for a good 11 years, but this was even more special than her very specials calling her Rosamund.

"Well," she said, thinking it over, "I suppose that's fine… but nobody else will be allowed to call me Rosa. Only YOU, Jules."

Greg, watching the 6 year olds with a casual style of supervision, smiled to himself as he set down his novel to tend to his insistent little Greer, who at the age of two years and change, had become a delightful handful and a certified daddy's girl.

Greg had known from the time he and his new DS, Kieran Bailey, had discovered that Julian and Rosie had already met and bonded as classmates, that his new Sergeant's son was going to become lifelong friends with Rosie Watson.

He wondered though, how strong and close this bond would actually become, and with a whimsy that was rare to his nature, whether or not they would someday count the name "Bailey"amongst those names they would call family.

Greg had a niggling feeling that they would.


	33. In For a Penny, In For a Pound

_**In for a Penny, In for a Pound**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, with minor humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Rosie, Julian, Molly with cameos by Grace, Michael, and Greer_

* * *

"Rosamund Mary Watson. They are NOT dolls," Molly said sternly.

"Auntie Sally said we could look after them though, and they're having fun, really they are!"

Rosie looked to Julian for backup, finding, as usual, her faithful friend crossing his arms and giving a solemn look of agreement.

"Mr. Sherlock even taught us how to change their nappies. It's really easy, and it's not gross at all unless you're squeamish. A copper's kid is never squeamish Mrs. Molly," Julian said, quite seriously.

Molly couldn't argue with that one easily. While she wasn't a copper's kid, she was definitely a copper's wife, and with that added to the fact that she herself was a pathologist, she had seen more things to give a person a case of the screaming squicks than London had umbrellas.

She peered into the cot, not quite vacated yet by Greer, but long since left behind by Johnnie and Scott. The Donovan-Holmes twins lay slumbering with what could only be described as sheer contentment.

"Besides," Julian continued to advocate, "Mrs. Sally showed us how to feed them and burp them too. And how to hold them to make sure…"

"Yes, Julian," Molly finally conceded. "I understand. You and Rosie are competent babysitters, and I'm sure Mi… Sally, appreciates the break."

"Well, Auntie," Rosie said, smiling bashfully, "That's kind of why we wanted to look after them. Auntie Sally is just so tired, and Uncle is busy with Daddy, but we didn't want to ignore Johnnie and Scott either, so…" she trailed off.

"Uh oh," she suddenly said. "Jules, do you… smell something?"

Molly smiled. She'd noticed the rather ungraceful grunt coming from little Grace, and not only being the mother of twins herself, but also knowing Sherlock and Sally's children as she did, predicted that within a short minute or two, Michael would soon enough follow suit with a scrunching of his face and an inevitable "eau de pew" issuing forth from his nappy.

"I don't suppose she only farted, do you?" Jules asked. When he was met with Mrs. Molly's desperately squirming mouth as she tried in vain to keep a straight face, and Rosa's look of disgusted resolve, Julian Bailey knew quite well that Grace Donovan-Holmes wasn't just winding.

"Daddy always says, in for a penny, in for a pound," Julian said. "And he says Mr. Greg agrees with him. Daddy and Mr. Greg couldn't ever be wrong," he stated. He gave Rosie a single look and a smile to let her know they were in it together.

"Auntie," Rosie finally said, smiling in acknowledgement at Julian, "I'm not asking you to do it for us, but would you stay please, so we know we've done it right?"

In spite of the advice he'd received from his dad and his dad's boss, Julian still thought to himself that Rosa definitely owed him for this one. Likewise, Rosie thought the same of Jules.

But when all was said and done, nappies had been changed and 6 year olds bolstered by their accomplishments, Molly had set the duo up on the sofa, each holding a sleeping twin from upstairs, (and herself cuddling a tired toddler Greer) she thought, maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

And judging by the self-satisfied expressions on Rosie Watson and Julian Bailey's faces, they didn't think it was such a bad idea either.


	34. Greer's Morning Ritual

**Greer's Morning Ritual**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greer, Greg, Molly_

* * *

Greg woke up before his eyes opened, and the first thing he noticed as consciousness rose up from his solid night's slumber was a heaviness on his chest, making it… not _hard_ to breathe, exactly… just, a _little_ more effort than he was strictly willing to expend so early in the morning.

He opened his eyes and raised his head from the pillow, his nose immediately bumping into his daughter's mass of silky chestnut hair, still smelling sweet from the shampoo that Molly had used the night before during her bedtime bath.

Greer Sherla Lestrade's favourite spot to nap, apparently, was still squarely on her father's chest. It always had been, and while Greg adored his little daughter, he didn't quite have the heart just yet to discourage her from claiming him as a mattress. At three years old, she was a lot heavier than she had been as a newborn who had bonded to her father the first moment he held her, and he was banking on the theory that she would soon enough grow out of the habit. Johnnie and Scott had done the same thing with him and Molly for a time, and they had thankfully grown out of it around the time of their sister's age.

Greer lay belly down on top of his chest, spread eagle, her face turned in Molly's direction, small arms wrapped around the sides of his ribs. He smiled to himself as he noted the soft, barely audible snore.

One more way she took after Molly, he thought with a silent chuckle, as he listened for it and caught the sound of Molly softly snoring as well.

"Greer," Greg whispered, not wanting to wake Molly up. His wife had had a rough few days between work and the twins having caught colds at their pre-school. She had been run off her feet, or so Greg had figured. Molly didn't quite agree, but Greg was no fool, and knew that it was better to over-appreciate her part in their family than to underappreciate it.

"Greer Sherla," he tried again, this time bringing his hand up to stroke the silken locks. "Wakey wakey little love,"

He felt her stir and her soft little voice quietly say, "Can you stop whispering, Daddy?"

Greg suppressed a laugh. "Not really!" he replied, still whispering, but this time a little more loudly.

As Greer fully awoke, she brought her forearms up and crossed them, propping herself up. She gazed down at her father with her mother's face. Greg winced as she bent an arm to bring a small fist up to rub away the sandman from her dark expressive eyes - the only trait she had inherited from him - her elbow digging into his ribs.

"Good morning Little Lass," he said to her. She grinned down at him.

"Good morning, Daddy," she replied, looking for all the world like she wanted to flop back down to finish her interrupted sleep.

"Do you need to use the loo yet?" he asked her, hopefully. Greer giggled and shook her head.

"Well, I _do_ have to use the loo," Greg said. "So I'm afraid you're gonna have to let me get up. You can stay here if you'd like or you can come into the kitchen and help me make Mummy's coffee."

Greer thought about this for a moment. "Coffee," she finally said. "I love how coffee smells!"

Definitely her father's daughter, Molly thought, as she lay awake, but still. She had stirred from her own sleep when Greer had awoken at Greg's urging, but had found herself so comfortable and warm that she hadn't bothered to move yet.

Molly still didn't move as she felt the bed shift, Greer sliding off of Greg's chest and Greg himself throwing the blankets off and rising to his feet. She lay there quietly for a few more minutes until she smelled the heavenly aroma of the promised coffee and heard the early morning sounds of her husband and their daughter coming from the kitchen. She knew that Greg was preparing breakfast with one hand while he held Greer on his other arm - another part of Greg and Greer's little morning ritual.

Molly thought with a pang of regret that she truly would miss the day when their little girl decided she was too big to cuddle with her daddy like that - it was her favourite way to wake up. Back when the boys had done the same thing, each one choosing a parent at random, Molly had found herself having to go through the same routine that Greg just had in order to orchestrate her own freedom to get out of bed. Since the boys had outgrown it the year before, and there was only Greer left, Molly missed that waking up with the weight of one of her sons on her chest. Greer did it with her as well on occasion, but only when Greg was away on a night shift and Molly was the only parent around.

Throwing the covers off, she sat up, stretching and yawning. Rising from the bed, she padded out into the kitchen, meeting a sleepy Johnnie and Scott coming out of their bedroom on her way past. "Good morning, loves," she called out, smiling.


	35. Hot Suds

**Hot Suds**

 ** _Genre:_** _Humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Sherlock and Sally_ _, background only_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sally, Sherlock, John, Kieran_

* * *

Greg glanced over at Sherlock and John as they surveyed the crime scene. A young uniformed PC had caught their eye, and Sherlock wondered if he was fit to even be on duty judging by the way he was walking.

Kieran and Sally followed the consulting detectives eyes over to the young pup, and Greg snorted loudly. John, though unsure, thought he maybe knew what was going on, but the three Yarders knew exactly what had happened.

"That ever happen to you, Sir?" Kieran asked Greg.

"Almost. I remembered in the nick of time so just managed to avoid it, thank God. Could have been a long bloody day in the patrol car if I hadn't." Greg winced at the memory of his near miss.

"What about you, Bailey?" Sally asked with a crooked grin. Sherlock studied his wife, looking for clues, but for once he came up with nothing.

"Well fortunately for me, my older brother is also a copper, and he gave me a heads up so I knew better. He didn't at the time though… that's how he knew, I guess. Wish I could have been there to see that," Kieran snickered.

"Darling, would you mind telling us what the hell you're talking about?" Sherlock's curiosity finally got the better of him as he levelled a questioning look at Sally.

Greg cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow and grinning at her. Greg knew for a fact that Sally Donovan had learned the hard way, because she had been quite candid about relating the experience – once the sting had worn off, she saw every bit of humour in her own mistake. Sally smiled with a sparkle in her dark eyes.

"That kid had pepper spray training this morning," she said. "He didn't bother to wash his hair before jumping into the shower." She winked at Sherlock, whose eyebrows had furrowed suddenly in amused comprehension.

John raised an eyebrow and looked at Greg for confirmation.

"Hot pepper suds," Greg explained. "Ran down his back and made a trail through the crack of his ass. He'll be sitting tender for the rest of the day yet I reckon."


	36. Much Ado About Johnnie and Scott

**Much Ado About Johnnie and Scott**

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, with minor humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Johnnie, Scott, Rosie, Julian, John_

* * *

Gregory Scott Lestrade gazed up at Rosie with the saddest big brown eyes he could muster.

Given his genetic heritage, it wasn't a difficult thing for either he or his brother to achieve.

Their own father, in fact, had perfected the technique with their mother, so the young identical twins - more and more Greg's little doppelgangers as time passed - came by it quite honestly.

"We… I mean… I didn't MEAN it, Wosie. Weally I didn't!"

Rosie glanced over at Julian, sighing. Julian merely smiled. Being the big kid really sucked, sometimes.

"Scott, you KNOW it wasn't just you. It was Johnnie too?" Rosie gently pressed. She knew Scott Lestrade was distressed when he started to pronounce her name funny. At five years old, he and his twin brother had long since graduated past sounding like toddlers just learning to talk. This was definitely serious.

Scott looked up at her, his bottom lip starting to wibble a bit. He always did have a weakness where Rosie was concerned, and even at his young age, he knew what a fib was – even if it was a fib told with the very best of intentions.

"John, WAS it just Scott, or was it you too? BOTH of you together?" Julian asked.

Johnnie sat stoically, trying to appear neutral, but just as with his brother, his big expressive brown eyes gave him away. "It WASN'T Scott, it was ME!" he said, trying to be convincing.

"You know we know what really happened, don't you?" Rosie said gently.

The question was too much for the 5 year old Johnnie to bear, as huge tears began to roll down his cheeks. He managed to nod, though he couldn't quite bring himself to speak. He turned to Scott, whose own eyes had begun to overflow with badly held back tears.

"Well THAT wasn't so hard, was it, to tell the truth?" Rosie said, pulling Scott towards her. She wrapped her arms around the younger boy as little John found himself seeking out the reassuring embrace of Julian Bailey.

"Now," Julian said. "What are we going to do about this? You have to tell your mummy and daddy what happened, but in the meantime I think we really can find a way to fix it." He ruffled Johnnie's dark hair and glanced over at Rosie.

"We can make it not so bad, we promise," Rosie said, as she gave Scott a big squeeze, then releasing him. "You only have to be honest about what you've done, but Jules and I will be there too. I'll just bet Auntie Molly and Uncle Greg… I mean… your mum and dad, won't think it's so bad. Everything seems worse when you're only little."

"Now, they won't be home for a bit yet," Julian said. Mr. John said at least an hour. So why don't we go out and talk to him and maybe he knows what to do? Grownups always have a good answer," he smiled confidently, "especially the ones who live here."

"Daddy won't be mad at us?" Johnnie asked tearfully.

"John, I think he'd be more mad if you tried to hide what you did," Julian said. "You know my daddy is a policeman too and he's only mad at me if I do something bad and then fib about it."

"Promise, Julian?" Scott asked, his big brown eyes not having gotten any smaller. He turned to Rosie pleadingly. "Uncle John can really help?"

"My daddy ALWAYS knows what to do. And HE never gets mad either as long as I don't fib," Rosie said with a smile.

Bolstered by a new resolve, Johnnie and Scott Lestrade, confident now in what they had to do, allowed Rosie and Julian to take their hands and lead them out to where John Watson sat with his blog.

"Uncle John?" Scott said softly, "We have to tell you something…"

John looked curiously at the Lestrade twins, flanked by his daughter and her best friend, and smiled thoughtfully at Rosie. He rose from his spot at the cluttered desk and moved to the easy chair facing opposite Sherlock's in the living room.

As he settled down, John motioned for the two little boys to hop onto his lap. "What's that then, little lads?" he asked, wrapping his arms around them with a reassuring squeeze. "I'll just bet whatever it is, we can make it okay again."


	37. Ordinary Heroes

_**Ordinary Heroes**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, Kieran and Emma, background only_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sherlock, John, Sally, Kieran_

* * *

"Did you have any heroes growing up, Sir?"

Kieran Bailey had decided to join Greg, Sally, Sherlock, and John at the pub after a particularly stressful case had finally had a breakthrough and had come to a point where nothing more could be done until morning. Kieran knew that Julian was at Baker Street doing homework with Rosie, Mrs. Hudson looking after the brood, and Emma was out with Molly shopping for the baby that the Bailey household would be welcoming in a few short months. He didn't feel like going home to an empty flat, so he took his boss up on the offer to join them instead.

"Kieran," Greg said lightly, but firmly, "We're not on duty now. You really ARE allowed to call me Greg."

"Who's 'Greg', Graham?" Sherlock asked, feigning confusion, his voice distorted from speaking into his glass of ale as he took a pull from it. He grimaced and said, "HEY!" as Sally gave him a light kick under the table. She knew by now that her husband was speaking in jest, but she nonetheless loved an opportunity to tune him in, even jokingly.

"Okay… Greg…" Kieran said carefully, as if testing the waters with it the liberty that had honestly never occurred to him before.

"Did you have any heroes growing up?"

Greg smiled at this. The 'Sir' vs 'Greg' deflection, minor as it was, had allowed him a chance to quickly consider the question. He honestly had had enough adults in his life as a child that he looked up to and admired that he found himself having trouble deciding.

"Not fictional ones, real people besides your own parents, I mean," Kieran elaborated.

"Well," Greg said thoughtfully as he studied his glass, "I'd have to say my uncle James. He was a veteran, Second World War. But it was more than just that with him. He was a truly good man, more like a second father to me really."

"Did something happen to your own dad?" John asked curiously as he dug his hand into the bowl of nuts in front of them.

"Oh, no, nothing at all," Greg said. "My dad was great, really. More patience than I deserved. Embarrassed to say I was a bit of a punk for a couple of years in my early teens. Dad was patient with me, but Uncle James really got me turned back onto the straight path, and early enough too to keep me from ever having to appear in front of the magistrate. No, Uncle James taught me the value of discipline and honour."

"He sounds like an amazing man," Sally said softly. "You could say he helped to shape you into who you are today then?" She swirled her dwindling wine in the glass.

"Definitely. I only hope I do the same for the kids in my life now, to be honest. Be half the man Uncle James was. Dad too. "

"I think you do, S… uh... _Greg_ ," Kieran said. He chuckled to himself. "Anyway, you're never going to believe who my childhood hero is, and one of the two reasons I became a copper in the first place."

"This sounds like a good one," John said, smiling. He motioned to the barmaid for another round.

"I've seen a lot in my time, Kieran. I just may believe it," Greg laughed.

"Well, at the risk of being a sap… one of my childhood heroes is actually _you_."

The table was met with a brief silence as they took that in, and it suddenly occurred to both Kieran and Greg that they may still actually be the only two people at the table who knew their full history.

"Greg? But Kieran, how could that be, you only met each other last year when my Old Plod went on maternity leave from the Yard?" Sherlock asked, truly perplexed.

"Actually, the first time we met a long time ago," Greg said with a mysterious grin. He exchanged a look with Kieran. "Then we met again when he joined my team last year."

Kieran said nothing for few moments as attention suddenly focused on him, broken only momentarily as the waitress brought their fresh round.

"You know how Greg sometimes figuratively smacks my ass just to make me yell? Well that's not the first time he's done that… the first time WAS actually a literal smack." Kieran took a pull from his first glass, emptying it, as the table took this in and tried to figure out what the hell he was talking about.

Finally, he explained. "Greg here was the first person in the world to ever lay eyes upon me," Kieran said. "He was a young Sergeant on holiday when my mother somehow got lost out by Dewar's Hollow. She was pregnant with me at the time. He found her but before they could make it back to town, she went into labour. I never knew his name until last year, I knew a few details but not his name. For years I looked up to a man whose face I didn't know. I thought that it was the most amazingly heroic thing. Mum remembered him as being calm and comforting even though she figured he was probably secretly pissing his pants!"

"She wouldn't be far off," Greg admitted. "I was a little calmer the last time," he said, throwing a half smile at Sally. "I was terrified but then there you were, safely arrived. Holding you the moment you were born was something of an affirmation for me. Police work has always been to serve and to protect. Sometimes we forget that "serve" bit I think. It's good to be reminded now and then that we're about more than catching criminals." Greg glanced back to Kieran and tried to come across as amused, but privately, he was deeply humbled by the declaration by his newest team member. Kieran, learning the nuances of reading body language from Greg, wasn't fooled by his boss, and he briefly worried if he'd embarrassed him a bit by being too sappy.

"That's amazing," John said, chuckling softly. "Of course I've delivered a lot of babies in my time, that's just par for the course for a doctor… I guess I never thought much about it being outside your comfort zone. So how about you then Sally, who is your childhood hero?"

"Don't really have one," Sally admitted. "Though if I were to think about it, maybe it would be my neighbour Stella. She was a tough bird, had a rough life. Her husband was killed in a workplace accident, and she had a boy about my age. But she made it through one day at a time. I remember hearing her one day out in her yard, she was pulling carrots or something in her garden, and she was singing. All the shit she lived through and she still felt like singing. She never had much as I remember, but she was always willing to share. I remember singing with her a few times now that I think about it. She had a lovely voice."

"So do you, love," Sherlock said wistfully. "Hearing you sing at Greg and Molly's wedding was incredible. I cherish that moment. I really think that was the start of us," he smiled.

Sally smiled back at him, blushing slightly. "I think maybe it was. But what about you, Git?" she asked, reaching over to squeeze his arm. "Did you have a childhood hero?"

"A pirate of some kind I'd lay money on," Greg snickered. John grinned into his glass in private agreement as he emptied it. He set it down and reached for the fresh one, snickering to himself.

"Sherlock doesn't believe that heroes exist, apparently," John said lightly.

"I do now, John. That was the old me, remember? You should bloody remember, you were there after all," Sherlock said, firing a playfully sniffy look at John and all but sticking his tongue out at his best friend.

"No," he continued more seriously, "I would have to say my violin instructor. After Eurus taught me the basics and then vanished from our midst, I kept it up. My dad found another instructor and she taught me the value of feeling. I had no idea what it meant then, but on some level I still… experienced emotion. Music is a great unifier between skill and heart, maybe it was the only emotional connection I had then until I met Greg and John. I suppose I understood it more comprehensively after Sherrinford," he said quietly, looking at John. His best friend smiled briefly, averting his eyes for a moment.

"Yes, you did," John finally said. "For everything that happened to us there, you came out of it more human than I ever realized you could be capable of being."

A silence fell over the group as they each became lost in their thoughts. Finally, Kieran broke it, saying, "What about you, John. Did you have a childhood hero?"

John paused as he thought about this for a few moments. Finally, he replied, "No. Not really… all of my heroes were met in my adulthood. That happens for a soldier, I suppose. You witness valour beyond normal comprehension, and humanity amongst the inhumane. If one could say a CHILD hero though, I'd say my daughter. Rosie gave me purpose when it seemed I had none left. No matter what happened, no matter how many times I tried to flip the switch off after Mary died, there was always Rosie. Life couldn't stop completely because she needed me to keep going. Always, life goes on."

"Fair enough," Greg said. "I think we might all agree that there's a little bit of hero in all of our children, though. Small ways maybe, ordinary ways."

"Ordinary little heroes," Sherlock said. "But then aren't all heroes and heroines just ordinary people? People who do things for others without even really being aware of their impact? Greg, did you realize what your impact would be when you delivered Kieran nearly 30 years ago? Or were you just doing what you needed to in order to help his mother? Or you, Love," he said, turning to Sally. "Did Stella know she was your heroine, or was she just getting herself through life one day at a time?"

Another thoughtful silence fell over the table. Sally smiled to herself at her husband's words. Finally, she raised her glass, a cue to the others to do the same thing.

"To Ordinary Heroes," she said, as their glasses clinked together.


	38. Footsteps

_**Footsteps**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship/Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greer, Michael, Grace; Rosie, Johnnie, Scott mentioned_

* * *

Greer didn't really remember much of her big brothers taking her by the elbows with adoring determination and hauling her to her feet for the first time. Even at the tender age of two, they felt themselves capable enough in their own footing to give her a hand up – whether she wanted one or not.

It may have been the first time, but it would by far turn out not to be the last time, that John and Scott would hold their baby sister up when her legs felt unsteady and her steps unsure.

Greer didn't know of their own history with Rosie Watson – when Rosie had taken her brothers' elbows and done exactly the same thing.

And thus, in this way, the three children of Greg and Molly Lestrade had taken their first steps.

Greer only knew that it was high time those two little playmates of hers got off their wiggle bums and started walking. She was tired of sitting to play, when there was so much adventure waiting for them – and it could be reached so much faster if they weren't crawling on all fours.

And so, three year old Greer Lestrade, as headstrong and determined as one might think given her heritage and her upbringing, without much thought to it proceeded to take first Michael Holmes, and then his barely older sister Grace by their arms and haul them upright.

At the age of three, Greer was quite steady on her feet, so she provided a suitable support for the tentative first steps of the twins upstairs.

She didn't realize that this was a tradition started by Rosie, but she nonetheless carried it forward.

And so forward they moved, those two long awaited and much cherished children of Sherlock and Sally. Upright, on legs that weren't quite steady yet, and feet which still floundered a bit to grasp the rhythm of one foot in front of the other without tripping over themselves, but still not allowed to let them down… steadied by Greer.

A tradition of loving support that the children of 221 Baker Street had begun as toddlers, maintained through their chronology, and would carry on, as it would turn out, for a lifetime.


	39. The Measure of a Man

_**The Measure of a Man**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship/Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sherlock, John discussed heavily_

* * *

"He smiles when he thinks nobody is looking."

Sherlock nodded at this. "Indicative of…"

Greg smiled, the look he got when he was about to impart a morsel of wisdom. "The measure of a man, and the state of his mind and heart, are in what he does when he doesn't know he's being watched. He's quite liable to reveal an awful lot about what he's really thinking."

Sherlock grinned. "So John smiles a lot. What reason has he not to?"

Greg took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush. He paused a moment or two before speaking.

"There are smiles, Sherlock, and then there are… SMILES. _You_ smile one way when you look at any one of the children at 221, although Michael and Grace differently as they are yours, or there's the way you smile at me and your other friends. But the way you smile when you look at Sally, or when you're even just THINKING about Sally, or when someone mentions her or you're talking about her, is completely different."

Sherlock seemed to contemplate this. "Yes. I believe I've seen that as well with you and Molly." He took several sips from his tea cup as he pondered.

"Well the next time your wife looks at you, take bloody note," Greg said, more amused than exasperated at this point. "She smiles at you and about you in the same way."

Sherlock hmmmed to himself, understanding what Greg was saying, then smiled at the image of how Sally looked at him. Mentally shaking himself out of the cozy thought, he said, "he shaves more often these days. He owns two… no… THREE new ties," Sherlock said, almost absently, as if he were lost again in his own deductions.

"He's got a spring in his step. He also sings to himself more often than normal." Greg knew Sherlock was on a roll with his observations, and Greg was up to the task with his own.

"Hmmm yes. Usually he sings only to the children, or when the three of us are… _jamming_ ," Sherlock said, over emphasizing the word, as though he disliked it but couldn't come up with anything better on such short notice to describe the two or three times per week "The Baker Street Trio" got together to entertain their households.

"The mention of Mary no longer brings that flash of pain to his eyes," Greg said, quietly. "that tightening at the corners, very subtle but noticeable if you know to look for it. It's reflection now, as though he were remembering something special, something happy and cherished… but it no longer wounds him."

This was an observation of human nature so obvious that even Sherlock couldn't miss it. "I've noticed that too, but I wasn't sure what it meant. I hoped it didn't mean he was forgetting Mary, or didn't love her anymore."

Greg smiled at this. "John will always love Mary, but he's no longer in love with her. Sound familiar, Sherlock? Molly did the same thing with us quite some time ago."

Sherlock nodded slowly before speaking again. "Very familiar, Greg. Strawberry blonde hairs on his jacket, clearly from a woman. A faint hint of an unfamiliar feminine perfume lingering about his shirt collar."

"A renewed air of confidence lately. When a relationship breaks down we doubt ourselves, wonder what happened and if it was our fault. When a relationship is in its prime, we feel we could take on the world."

Sherlock said nothing for several minutes, glancing only at Greg in acknowledgement of his words. The two men sat in silence as their observations came together.

"Conclusion," Sherlock finally said, "John Watson is seeing someone."

"Conclusion," Greg elaborated with a grin, "John Watson is in love."

"Indeed," Sherlock said lightly, grinning back.


	40. The More Things Change

_**The More Things Change**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship/Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, John and introducing OC Alexandra, all background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sherlock, John_

* * *

"So, what's her name?" Sherlock said suddenly. John raised an eyebrow and turned his head to his left to look up at his taller friend.

"What?" he asked, feigning confusion.

"Your girlfriend, John. What's her name?" Greg asked. John's eyebrows furrowed as he turned his head to the right to look up at his other taller friend.

"We're not stupid, Dr. Watson. We know you have a lady in your life. It doesn't even take Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out." Greg grinned cheekily and winked. John rolled his eyes at this, sighing heavily.

"He's right, you know," Sherlock said, words that, while they HAD been known to pass through his lips regarding Greg Lestrade, nevertheless did so quite rarely. "Greg figured it out in his own way as well. Apparently he's more observant than we thought. Who would have imagined he made Detective Inspector and solved his own cases before I came along!" he said teasingly.

"Shall I?" John said, grinning at Greg.

"Be my guest," Greg chuckled, as John solidly landed a punch into Sherlock's arm on his behalf. Sherlock scowled at his friends before shaking his head with resignation.

"That was MEAN," Sherlock pouted as he rubbed his arm where John's fist had made contact, before allowing a small smile to form.

"Alexandra," John finally said, as their journey on foot took them closer to their destination. "Well, Alex. Everyone calls her Alex."

"Alex?" Sherlock asked. "As in your nurse? Nurse Alex?"

Greg smiled at this. It figured, it did seem like John Watson had left little time in his life for a romance, between the surgery, sleuthing with him and Sherlock, and being a Dad to Rosie and an Uncle to everyone else.

"The one and only," John smiled softly. "Well where else was I going to find a nice lady to spend quality time with? We have a lot in common and we do get to spend a lot of time together at the surgery. She's smart as a whip and she's beautiful, and she even thinks boring old me is some kind of a catch," he said, self-deprecatingly.

"Well, you ARE a catch," Sherlock said. "But for God's sake don't tell Mrs. Hudson I said that. It took two marriages to women to finally convince her that we weren't gay."

Greg snorted at this. Besides himself, he wasn't sure he knew two men who were more heterosexual than John and Sherlock. Oh well, he thought, to each their own opinions. For as much as they all loved Mrs. Hudson, they knew that you could tell her, but you couldn't tell her much, and once she got an idea into her head, there wasn't much a person could do to budge it.

"So will you be spending time at her flat with her now that the cat's out of the bag?" Greg asked casually. "221B is getting to be rather close quarters as it is I reckon, but I don't imagine Mrs. Hudson would be too pleased if you moved out with Rosie."

John shrugged his shoulders. "Hadn't really thought about it. We're taking things slowly, we haven't actually gotten to that stage quite yet. Guess I don't want to rush into anything. I've still got Rosie to think about."

"Well you're not getting any younger, John," Sherlock pointed out. John rolled his eyes at this. "Even Greg didn't waste any time when he and Molly first got together. Time waits for no man after all." Sherlock's brows furrowed defensively as his two friends levelled glares at him at the same time.

"Says the man who refused to shit or get off the pot with Sally for a full bloody year," Greg muttered under his breath. Sherlock failed to hear it, but John, standing closer, caught it. He glanced at Greg and they shared a knowing half smirk.

Choosing not to respond verbally to Sherlock's crack about his age, John said, "Well, I have actually talked to Mrs. Hudson about 221B getting a bit crowded. It's only going to get worse over time. Michael and Grace will need separate rooms eventually. I wasn't going to say anything just yet, but we're going to be moving out soon."

The two men flanking him stopped dead in their tracks and exchanged a look of shock that one might see if they'd both been solidly slapped across the face – which, in truth, they both felt they had been.

"You're leaving Baker Street?" Sherlock finally said, sounding truly dismayed.

"I suppose we should have seen this coming," Greg said unhappily. None of them could deny that while it was manageable for the time being, as Sherlock and Sally's twins grew they would need their own space.

"Well. Not exactly," John said as he turned around to face his friends, smiling mysteriously. "I talked to Mrs. Hudson about leaving and she had a suggestion. Apparently she doesn't want to see anyone actually leave her house now that she's finally got everyone together under one roof. She has no children of her own and at her age it's comforting, apparently. Look, I know none of us want to see it, Mrs. Hudson has always seemed a little bit invincible, but the hard truth is, she's in her 80's and she's getting frailer with each passing year."

Greg thought about this, a look of sad acknowledgement passing over his dark eyes. Sherlock glanced at him with a similar expression. Mrs. Hudson's increasingly frail physical state really was the elephant in the room most of the time.

"Really, look at it from her perspective," John continued. "She's got five surrogate children between the three of us and your wives, and a whole brood of surrogate grandchildren. We're the family she never really had. I could move out of course, I'm a grown man and I can do what I please. But I just can't bring myself to break her heart like that."

"So then what exactly are you suggesting?" Greg asked, glancing at Sherlock an then back to John.

"Mrs. Hudson suggested Rosie and I move downstairs into 221A with her. She has spare bedrooms, she lives alone, and she said that it would be good to have a doctor across the hall with her hip the way it is. This way, we let some of the stuffing out of 221B, Mrs. Hudson has a live-in help, and we all stay together."

"That's brilliant," Sherlock said, clearly relieved. The detective took a deep breath, letting it out with happy contentment.

"I rather thought so myself," John said, grinning brightly. "This way I'll have also more privacy when Alex eventually starts coming over. It's really a perfect solution for Mrs. Hudson, and for me and Rosie as well. Besides, I rather like all of us being together."

"So you're moving out, but not ACTUALLY moving out," Greg said, grinning brightly now himself. "You know with our lot it seems the more things change, the more they stay the same."


	41. After Shift

_**After Shift**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly_

* * *

Greg always looked forward to coming home after a shift.

Some days he was relieved for the chaos of his children running around, keyed up from their day and excited for dinner, and overjoyed it seemed, to see their dad – often for the first time since they'd been tucked in by him the night before. There were times when that chaos was a balm to his emotions and his spirit when a day had gone sideways, or had at the very least attempted to.

Other days, exhausted but satisfied from a hard day of successfully managing to keep a case on track – maybe even concluding it - he nonetheless was made happier still by the sights and sounds of his family. His children always seemed to know what sort of day their dad had had. The boys knew if they should play calmly on their own, or goad him into a bit of roughhousing, or even just pick up a book and curl up with him for quiet time.

Greer always knew as well. No matter what sort of day he'd had, Greer always greeted him with enthusiasm, running towards him with her three year old arms stretched up towards him, wanting him to pick her up. He would gratefully do so, sweeping her up into his arms, and the certified daddy's girl would get in her cuddles.

One way or another, his children made a bad day bearable and a good day absolutely marvelous.

Once he'd made his way through the trio of small Lestrades, he'd find Molly – either preparing a meal she'd just made, dishing out takeaway, or warming up something he'd made ahead the night before. Without fail, she would drop what she was doing and greet her husband with an embrace – soft caresses, murmurings heard even over the din in the livingroom, kisses that had been made to wait all day and wouldn't be held back any longer.

This day, however, he was mildly surprised to find himself through the door at 221C and be met by nothing more than a soft music playing, and the sounds of a solitary being in the flat, busy over in the kitchen. The lighting was set to dim, just bright enough to navigate the room without tripping over furniture or stepping on the cat.

His natural curiosity – such an essential asset for a copper – was held back only long enough for him to relieve himself of his shoes and both jackets, putting them in their place in the closet. Softly, he padded his way into the kitchen, finding their dining table set out with candles, their fancy wine glasses - purchased for their wedding day and still used on occasion, and a bottle of his favourite red, open and breathing.

"Hey, you," he said, smiling at Molly. She looked up from the counter and returned the smile. Looking back down only long enough to finish what she'd been doing, she picked up a towel and wiped her hands clean and dry.

"Hey, yourself, you," she said as she approached him the way she always did, with that look of, "everyone else be damned, in this moment you are mine", and he opened his arms to her, their hello kiss seeming to be a bit more leisurely this evening, a bit more carefully considered, a bit more deliberately executed.

After what seemed an hour – in reality probably a solid and quality two minutes – he found his breath long enough to ask where everyone was.

"The boys are with John," she said, as her mouth sought his again. In between kisses, she managed to reveal, "Greer is with Sherlock and Sally."

"Mmmm," he acknowleged. "How long?" he asked as he shifted his face, mumbling into her neck.

"Sleepovers" Molly managed just as her breath caught.

"Ah, so we have ourselves some grown-up time then," he smiled into her hair. She shivered as his warm breath whispered against her skin.

"All night, yes," Molly giggled. "But aren't you hungry, darling?" she said, finally breaking away. She looked up into his shining eyes as he grinned at her.

"Famished," he purred, as his hands wandered and caressed. "Absolutely bloody famished."

Molly smiled, almost bashfully. "I'm talking about dinner," she laughed softly, "because I promise you, Gregory Joseph Lestrade, that you are going to need every scrap of energy you can manage tonight. A good meal will only do you favours."

"Well… SOME of my favours," he said, grinning at her. "So love," he said, feigning resignation, but his belly beginning to rumble in grateful anticipation at the aroma of the meal that awaited them, "what's for dinner then, since you insist we indulge in a real bit of food first?"

Smiling brightly at him, she led him to the table before returning to the counters to retrieve their repast.


	42. Phillip's Christmas Lullaby

_**Phillip's Christmas Lullaby**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, Phillip Anderson and OC Jackie, all background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greer, Phillip_

* * *

When Phillip Anderson showed up at 221C for the annual Baker Street Christmas Eve get-together, he wasn't expecting Greer Lestrade to remember him, let along attach herself to him for the evening.

The little girl, eagerly anticipating Christmas morning, was keyed up enough by the activities of the day to know that something else special was happening, even if she wouldn't get to stay up long enough to take all of it in.

Phillip, having missed the party the year before, hadn't really seen much of little Greer since Sherlock and Sally's wedding, when he had taken it upon himself to babysit.

He had watched her through the ceremony, as Molly had acted as matron of honour, and Greg himself had escorted Sally down the aisle to give her away. He had assisted with not only Greer, but Johnnie and Scott Lestrade as well once the ceremony itself had begun. He had even voluntarily assumed primary childminding duties for the following reception and dance as well. He fondly remembered Greg and Molly's youngest collapsing limply against his shoulder as he tried to find a quiet spot away from the din of the celebration, the young girl's weary twin brothers tagging along and clinging to his coat tails. Greer had been just under a year old at the time – too young really to participate, although her brothers had acted as co-ringbearers.

Phillip had enjoyed his colleagues having a true night off, celebrating, and as for himself, he didn't mind looking after the little ones in the least. He had little opportunity to do so as it was, having none of his own.

He had seen Greer after that, at the odd gathering, celebrating birthdays, or most notably the goodbye gathering for DS Ambrose, which secured Kieran's spot on the team with Sally's return from mat leave, rounding out Greg's CID team as it currently stood. Greer had enthusiastically stuck to him when she wasn't seeking out her dad, or pre-occupied with playtime hosted by Rosie and Julian.

Phillip released his fiancée Jackie's arm long enough to reach down and catch Greer in shock as the young girl launched herself at him. Greg stood back and grinned. Maybe Phillip hadn't noticed that he held a certain knack with the little ones, but Greg had.

Later on, Greer would crash in Phillip's arms, with his quiet whispers of promises of the morning to come.

"Look, Lady Greer," he would say, softly. He had looked out the flat's basement level window at the prompting of Rosie and Julian, who as always seemed a pair joined at the hip, and pointed at the low level view illuminated by a nearby street lamp highlighting the scene in a soft glow. A gentle snowfall had begun, almost cheesy in its Christmas Eve postcard cliché. Quaint to a fault, but charming to the hilt nonetheless.

Greer, tired but still keyed up, sat contentedly on his arm with her hands wrapped around his neck.

"Do you know what that is, Milady?"

Jackie, more than happy to share her fiancé with Greer Lestrade, appeared at his other side, smiling softly.

"It's snowing!" Greer replied. "Father Christmas is coming!"

"Yes, he is," Phillip said warmly. "It also means that little girls and boys have to go to bed. Father Christmas won't come until they're sleeping you know, even if they've been good all year."

Molly, approaching from behind with Greg, overheard this.

"Would you like daddy to tuck you in, or Phillip?" Molly asked her daughter. "Father Christmas doesn't care who it is, as long as you're asleep." Greg glanced at her with a smile.

Greer was fading fast, and as her arms tightened around Phillip's neck, the answer was clear.

Jackie and Molly, without a word, moved off towards the living room to wait patiently, while Greg escorted Phillip towards Greer's bedroom.

"She may need a lullaby," Greg whispered. "She usually does, especially when she's excited before she powers out. I hope your singing voice is tuned up."

Phillip Anderson shot a look of dismay at Greg. "I don't even sing in the bloody shower," he whispered back.

"Bollocks. I've heard you in the bloody shower at the station. You're not that bad. Greer doesn't care anyway. Hell, she likes MY voice. Just think of a nice little Christmas tune and go for it. She's only thinking of Father Christmas anyway."

Phillip thought about this as he gently set the snoozing girl down. She stirred only slightly as he helped Greg to change her into her pajamas and tuck her in. His boss grinned at him and said, "You're on," as he stood back. Greer stirred and opened her eyes from under her covers, gazing up at him with blearly but expectant eyes.

Neither man noticed Molly and Jackie in the doorway as Phillip began to sing the lullaby to Greer. When he had finished, and the young girl was slumbering to her father's satisfaction, Greg motioned Phillip to lead him out. Phillip smiled at Jackie and followed her out to the living room, as Greg quietly closed the door to his daughter's room and took Molly's offered arm.

Phillip had no idea at the time, but Jackie did. The following Christmas, they would be bringing their own little girl with them to 221 Baker Street to celebrate Christmas Eve, and Greer Lestrade would be waiting for them, eagerly anticipating Father Christmas, and Phillip Anderson's bedtime lullaby.


	43. Small Mercies

_**Small Mercies**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, Humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, Phillip Anderson and OC Jackie, all background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Phillip, introducing Ciana Jane Anderson, daughter of Phillip and OC Jackie_

* * *

Jackie Anderson was six months a bride and one week due to give birth when she and Phillip decided to invite everyone over for a late summer dinner party. They intended for it to be one last go at the season before London decided to piss all over their parade with autumn weather.

"How close is she again?" Greg had asked Molly. Molly had shrugged, her mouth twisting in her way to suppress uncontrolled giggling.

"Any day now, maybe a week. Why, darling?" Molly asked, innocently.

Greg cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. "I'm not going anywhere NEAR Anderson's townhouse. No damned way. Not a mile, not a yard, not a damn bloody foot."

Molly struggled but managed to return to a more sober expression. She glanced over at Michael and Grace Holmes, playing quietly with Greer in the middle of their living room floor. They had been the last babies delivered by Greg when emergency childbirth had come knocking at his door. It was an experience that he vowed to never put himself knowingly into a position to endure.

Ever.

Again.

"That's not something that could ever happen again, love, don't be so paranoid and ridiculous. They only want to celebrate while they still have the time and energy to."

"I was his bloody best man when he married Jackie, isn't that enough? I seem to remember celebrating plenty that night and anyway I'm pretty sure I have a playdate with my daughter that day." Greg wasn't budging.

"AND our sons," he added for emphasis.

"As a matter of fact, I do believe that I'm to chaperone Rosie and Julian."

Greg smiled sweetly. "We're to teach Michael and Grace how to tell the difference between their left shoe and their right shoe."

When Molly stared at him blankly, he added, "It's a crucial stage in their development, learning left from right."

Molly levelled a glare at him. "Bullshit," she said.

"Someone has to mind the little ones. Anderson did that duty when Sherlock and Sally were married and he really mostly looked after ours. Now it's someone else's turn and it's only fair. TAG. I'm it."

"You do realize that John and I will both be there, yeah?" Molly pointed out, still trying to reason with her husband. "And that both of us are doctors. And that trumps your first aid training, and ABSOLUTELY absolves you of any sense of duty whatsoever?"

Greg narrowed his eyes.

"The chances of Jackie going into labour in those few hours you'll be there are astronomically low, Gregory. You can mind the children if you want to but you ARE going to be doing it at Phillip and Jackie's, whilst enjoying their company and indulging in the meal they plan to treat everyone to."

Greg closed his eyes and sighed heavily. If he had learned anything over the years, it was to pick his battles.

This was one where retreat was probably called for.

As it turned out, Jackie Anderson would indeed go into labour, but it would be five days after the party. She would do so in a rather undramatic fashion, with Greg Lestrade a solid 10 kilometres away, hunting down a witness.

The first time he would see Ciana Jane Anderson, she would be in her father's arms, bringing her to the Yard for his turn at bragging rights. Sally would gush at the little girl and claim her for a solid 10 minutes of cradling and coddling, while Kieran, on his way out into the field, would take five minutes to coo and admire her.

Greg himself had designated his day to desk duty, catching up on paperwork and reports that he had skillfully avoided up until that point. When his lanky forensics tech appeared at the doorway of his office with a tiny wiggling bundle, Greg found himself unable to resist a break from the drudgery of forms and filings.

"She's a pretty little lass, isn't she," he said as his arms, now well seasoned in holding babies, cradled her. "She favours Jackie, I reckon."

Anderson chuckled proudly, gazing at his baby girl with shining blue eyes. "Yes, thank God for small mercies!"

Greg smiled, thinking that the fact that Anderson's little daughter had arrived with absolutely no interaction with him whatsoever was, without question, the biggest small mercy of them all.


	44. Morrie

_**Morrie**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Romance, Humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Phillip and Jackie in background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Toby, mention of new OC Morrie (trust me)_

* * *

"Gregory," Molly said softly. "I want another one."

Greg closed his eyes. He had seen this coming for at least two months now, and he had dreaded the conversation he knew was coming.

The question was, would he be able to stay firm and resist, or would he buckle to his wife's fondest desires and wishes – or, he had to admit grudgingly to himself – his own heart's opinion on the matter.

He kicked himself as he felt his own resolve on the subject begin to quiver, admitting grudgingly that probably he wanted another one too, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why any part of him thought it was a good idea.

"Molly, I'm not sure that's wise. I mean think of it. Little ones like that come with a lot of responsibility, and the expense… and we have to think of Toby as well. He's well adjusted now to our family, would it be fair to put more stress on him?"

Molly wasn't any more convinced of Greg's argument – logical and reasonable as it was – as Greg himself was.

The truth was, he was beginning to cave. He knew it, and worst of all, Molly knew it.

And, much as he hated to admit it, his faithful old buddy Toby wasn't getting any younger.

Molly smiled to herself and sidled up to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting her head on his chest. She brought a hand up to caress him through his shirt.

"Girl or boy?" she whispered.

Greg sighed. He was utterly screwed, and he knew it. Molly knew it. She smiled broadly against his shirt, turning her face up to gaze at her husband.

Her utterly screwed husband.

"Boy. Half the stress to neuter."

"Which one then?"

Greg sighed again.

"The black. There's a pure black, isn't there? Looks like he'll have green eyes. Always liked a green-eyed cat. I get to name him though. I won't agree unless I get to name him."

Molly hesitated a few moments. When Greg was in this cheeky smartass mood who knew what might come out of his imagination. She knew how a copper's mind worked, how his or her sense of humour rolled. She possessed that quality herself – it was a side-effect of what they did for a living.

"Fine. If it means I get to have another cat – "

Greg cut her off.

"WE get to have another cat," he reminded her firmly.

"If it means WE get to have another cat," Molly corrected herself, "letting you name him is a small thing, darling."

"Tell Jackie we'll take the little black male, then. And for God's sake tell her and Anderson to have his mother spayed already."

Molly couldn't argue with that request. "Definitely. But Gregory… what were you going to name him?"

Greg said nothing, only sliding his hand up Molly's side seductively.

"I haven't decided yet. But I'm going to take a guess that Diablo or Beze are out of the question. I may go for something simple like Morrie."

"Oh… Gregory Lestrade… you WOULDN'T…!" Molly gasped.

"My choice, my prerogative." Greg grinned at her impishly. "You've already agreed love. No turning back now."

"Oh, you really are a bastard, aren't you," Molly stated, though even she couldn't deny that the kitten they had their eye on had a certain dark quality about him.

"If I agree to Morrie we can take him home?" Molly finally asked. She took a small breath, letting it out quietly. "He's an innocent little kitten. Surely he's not as bad as his name might imply?"

Greg thought about this, and thought about the personality of the kitten he'd had his eye on too, but wouldn't admit it in a million years to Molly. For him, until now, it was a passing whim, one easily quashed by practicality. "Innocent, yeah. Not sure how long though. Maybe it'll just be a stage. We'll have to see how Morrie grows up, maybe Toby can keep him in line."

Toby Hooper would greet his new flatmate with initial disdain, then graduate to pure resentment, then downgrade the status to a simple bit of aloofness.

The moment little Morrie, however, in his relentless attempts at acceptance, took it upon himself to groom a particular spot on his back that Toby, in his advancing age, found it hard to reach anymore, , the deal was struck.

Morrie Lestrade was Toby's apprentice, and nobody was more delighted than Greg to find them one afternoon upon his early return from work, curled up in a sunbeam in the window, looking for all the world like they actually MEANT to get along.

Baker Street had its next generation of Consulting Mouser, and all would go well.

Until, that was, 221B acquired a puppy.


	45. Consensus

_**Consensus**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Romance, Humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Sherlock and Sally_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sherlock, Sally, Michael, Grace_

* * *

"Mama, please?" Michael Holmes pleaded.

Sally looked at her son in dismay. He had her complexion and her dark brown eyes, but somehow had managed his dad's face otherwise, with those full pouty lips and the cat eyes, and worst of all the cheekbones that would cut glass. Sally glanced at her daughter, looking like her for all the world with the notable exception of those changeable eyes of her father's – Grace had even inherited that ocular freckle. Grace Holmes was going to break a few hearts, and her dad was going to back her up with her decisions.

"Mummy, please, Daddy said so!" Grace pleaded.

Sherlock averted his eyes, pretending to study a random item next to his chair, before sinking down and feigning a retreat into his mind palace. He was a sucker for any, either, and both of his children, at any given time. When they ganged up, he knew he was done for.

"Daddy said so, did he then?" Sally wasn't fooled for an instant. Years working with Greg Lestrade as her boss had taught her a few things, and even watching him with his own children held a lesson or two.

She advanced towards Sherlock, her hand outstretched. Casually, she reached over, allowing her fingers to play through his mop of curls. It was an innocent enough gesture, devoid of any blatant marital convincings in front of her pre-school aged twins, but yet enough to let Sherlock know that his wife wasn't fooled, nor would she be put off.

Sherlock winced, his eyes closing tightly as if in contemplation of a quick decision.

"Well… daddy MAY have said yes… pending mummy's approval," he said quietly.

"What does Mrs. Hudson say about all of this?" Sally wasn't, strictly speaking, opposed to the idea – just what this idea may bring on a practical level.

"Mrs. Hudson has stated that the decision is ours, provided someone will be available to take him or her out at regular intervals. I can't be sure of course, but she seemed to indicate that she herself may be available at times. John and Rosie are also in favour, as are Greg and Molly. In essence, we have consensus."

"So you're saying this puppy would essentially be… the responsibility of everyone in 221?" Sally asked.

"Well… yes," Sherlock admitted. "But I DID tell the children that if mummy said no, that MEANT no, and not to get their hopes up just yet."

He was met with a sweet smile, warm enough to melt his heart, and a comfortable, familiar silence.

"They understand that, and really they love Toby and Morrie so a puppy can be forgotten soon enough…" Sherlock trailed off.

Sally brought her hand up and smiled softly, brushing the backs of her fingers against his cheek. "How can I say no to them, answer me that, Git?"

Sherlock looked up, meeting his wife's gaze. "I don't imagine you can. I certainly can't. That's why I stalled and sent the matter over to you. Forgive me Old Plod… I have trouble saying no to our children as well. I DO try but I think you're better at these things."

Sally thought about this a few moments. "I know you try," she finally said. "And you sometimes succeed. Well if everyone here is on board, I can't see the harm, really, if Mrs. Hudson has approved it already."

She had an inkling of her husband's reaction, but she wasn't prepared for the look of sheer delight on his face when he finally smiled in relief.

"Well then, we need to decide what sort of dog would be suited to this place, and what sort of dog would be a good family pet, not prone to aggression, or territorial tendencies, after all there are two cats downstairs to consider as well…" Sherlock said rapid fire. "So, I've been doing some research," he continued, as he took three long strides to reach his laptop. He flipped it open and with a swift motion woke it up to the web pages he had left open.

Sally sighed, grinning. Always thinking, he was. It was his most endearing quality, and his most frustrating, all at the same time.

"Michael! Grace!" Sally finally called out. "Mummy has some good news for you!"


	46. Maisie

_**Maisie**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, John and Alex, Background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _John, Rose, Julian, Alex, introducing Maisie_

* * *

"Seriously? John said, with a frustrated huff.

"I think he is, Daddy," Rosie said.

Julian looked on. He'd done his own Google research and had come up with essentially the same results that Rosie had.

"They are a good family dog," Rosie finally replied. "Maybe a bit stubborn, a bit…"

"Obstinate," Alex said. "Remind you of anyone Rosie Rose?"

Rosie stifled a giggle. She adored Alex for her frankness, and her ability to make her dad smile no matter what the situation was.

"A bit maybe," Rosie admitted. Julian snorted beside her.

"But which one of them, Rosa?" Julian asked. It made no matter to him – HE didn't have to live at 221 Baker Street. "All the grownups here are stubborn!"

Alex herself smiled at this. As John's nurse first, she had come to know everyone at Baker Street as patients, before she had come to know them as family, through her blossoming romance with John.

"Any, either, all," Alex finally said. "There seems to be something about this address that makes people especially ornery." Alex didn't live there either, so really it didn't mean much to her, any more than it meant much to Julian Bailey. John gave her a sarcastic smile and rolled his eyes. For as much as he loved the woman, he had never known her, either before, or after, they had begun their relationship, to call a spade a spade.

No, his beautiful and beloved Alexandra preferred to call it a "feckin' shovel". John readily admitted to himself that this was one of the many reasons he'd fallen for her so utterly.

"She's only a pocket beagle, Mr. John," Julian reminded him. "They're like any other dog, you only have to be sure to train them from the start," he added hopefully. "Maybe you just have to out-stubborn her for a bit is all."

John glanced at his daughter, her best friend, and his own girlfriend. They weren't opposing his opinion, so much as offering ways for him to adjust it voluntarily.

And, having lived with Sherlock Holmes on and off over the years, he was well-versed in the fine art of out-stubborning someone.

"Well. Sherlock seems to think a pocket beagle would be ideal. He IS the cleverest man I know. Not the wisest though maybe…"

Rosie smelled what her dad was cooking.

"Uncle Greg looked into it too," Rosie confirmed. "He thinks that if a beagle puppy is introduced to Toby and Morrie from the very start they'll be okay. Best friends maybe, even."

"Really?" John wanted a puppy as much as anyone else at 221, but was worried about their ultimate choice. "Beagles have a high prey drive. Who knows how she'll get along with Toby and Morrie…"

In the end, Sherlock's advisement of a pocket beagle was embraced, and the puppy who would come to be known as Maisie would be welcomed by all, including one initially (though briefly) resentful senior tom cat in the basement flat, otherwise known as Toby, and the other young tom cat - feeling a bit more ambitious towards a newcomer and playmate - Morrie.

"I think the last baby has arrived," Mrs. Hudson said one evening, sitting with Rosie while John was out for the night with Alex.

Maisie snored audibly, in contentment, amongst part of her new family. Mrs. Hudson was confident that the chewing habit would one day pass, as would the tendency to nose around in things she had no business being in.

Then again, as Sherlock's puppy, she already came by that nosey trait honestly.

Maybe she wouldn't necessarily grow out of that.


	47. Daddys' Girls

_**Daddys' Girls**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Phillip and Jackie, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Ciana, Phillip, Greer mentioned_

* * *

Greg looked up from his laptop and closed his eyes briefly, wondering how he had managed to score childminding duties in his own office. While at work.

Greg wasn't in the business of trying to fool anyone at this stage in the game – least of all himself. The fact was, he readily acknowledged, he really didn't mind at all. The circumstances that had led to him minding Phillip and Jackie Anderson's daughter in his office at the Yard were so freakishly coincidental that he knew the chances of it ever happening again were phenomenally low.

Normally, Phillip Anderson wouldn't have brought his infant daughter with him to work, but his wife was at work herself and their childminder had called in sick. In the midst of a big case with time sensitive lab work waiting for him, Phillip had been left with little choice but to bring Ciana in with him.

And, as it happened, Greg had taken another of his office days – dedicated to catching up on reports and paper work. At this moment, however, Ciana Jane Anderson was still one very unhappy girl.

"I'm going to have to have a chat with your daddy, I think. Imagine it, bringing a BABY with him to work," he said to her as he tsked casually, rising from his chair to retrieve her from the makeshift cot he and Phillip had managed to fashion on the fly. The fact that Greg had, on rare occasion, had to mind his own babies in that office, when Molly was unable to do it, and their back up contingencies had all fallen through, seemed conveniently forgotten.

"Now, your nappy is clean and dry, YES, you're very welcome for that Little Missy," he said, picking her up. "You've been fed, you've been burped." He raised his eyebrows and looked at her with mock sternness. "I'll tell you what I think Ciana Jane Anderson. I think you're just being a little drama queen. What do you say to that, hmm?"

Ciana, finding herself in her favourite person's arms – aside from her own parents' of course – stopped crying long enough to gaze at him with wide eyed wonder.

"Oh, you think you can charm me with your big beautiful blue eyes, do you?"

Ciana smiled at the sound of his voice, even going so far as to coo at him.

"Well, you're a clever little one, aren't you, and you're probably right, but mark my words, you've still been nicked." Ciana blinked at him with impossibly long lashes and started to babble.

"Do you know the best part about you, Little Miss? I get to spoil you because I'm the boss," he said, as he tickled her under her chin, causing her to giggle. "And I can be a grumpy old boss bear when I take a mind to be, can't I? So nobody is going to argue with me, I can promise you THAT. Oh no, they wouldn't dare, would they?"

Ciana reached up, her small fist grasping his collar. Greg took it, saving his shirt from a difficult wrinkle, and blew a raspberry into her tiny palm. Ciana giggled with delight as she followed his eyes with her own.

Reaching down to grab her blanket, then turning to return to his desk, Greg settled back down into his chair. He shifted Ciana against his chest so that he may at least carry on with some of his work, if not quite all of it.

"I've missed having a baby to cuddle," he admitted to her as she sighed. He felt her relax against him and smiled at that. "My own little girl isn't very little anymore. She's four years old already! Can you imagine that, Ciana? Four! She's growing up on me! Funny, I don't remember telling her she was allowed to do that either. Ah, well she's still my Little Love though, she still loves to cuddle, but I don't know how much longer she'll want to be my daddy's girl," he said regretfully, almost fearfully. "But with you, Little Missy, I get the fun of spoiling you, then I get to hand you back to your parents and THEY can worry about being awake at all hours and changing your nappies."

Greg had learned over the months since she had been born that Ciana Anderson wasn't much for a song – not even her own father's, whose voice, everyone was quite willing to acknowledge, really wasn't half bad. Of course, she WOULD settle to sleep to a lullaby, but she seemed to love best when she was simply spoken to in soft steady tones to soothe her to sleep, and Greg's gravelly baritone, for some reason, she especially loved. Greg didn't understand it himself. All three of his children, indeed all of the children at 221, had preferred to be sung to, but he was grateful that he didn't have to resort to singing to Ciana – especially not here, in his office, where anybody might walk past and hear him. Grumpy old boss bears simply did not sing on the job.

Phillip, having managed to escape his lab for a short time while he waited for results to burst forth from his instruments, stood quietly in the doorway, grinning.

"I don't think Lady Greer will ever stop being a daddy's girl, Greg," he said softly, hoping to avoid waking his daughter up.

Greg grinned at this. "There's something very special about a daughter, isn't there? How they wrap a dad around their little fingers," he said, as he looked up at Phillip, watching as he softly made his way into the office and towards Greg's desk. Phillip smiled at his sleeping baby.

Phillip nodded at this in acknowledgement. "Firmly wrapped. I certainly hope Ciana never stops being MY daddy's girl." He reached over to brush his fingers lightly against her silken head, knowing just how to touch her without waking her up.

Greg's face became wistful as he thought about Greer, then he smiled again at Ciana as he reflected on the sort of hopelessly doting dad Anderson was turning out to be.

"I don't think you've anything to worry about, Phillip," he said.


	48. Affirmation

_**Affirmation**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sherlock, special appearance by Eurus Holmes_

* * *

Eurus Holmes sat in her cell at the remote island facility known as Sherrinford. It was known, in layman's terms, as a place in which to contain the "uncontainables."

In that regard, then, for decades the youngest sibling of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes had been "contained" within its walls.

When she had escaped to wreak havoc on her brothers, and most notably Sherlock, she had subjected them to unmerciful games - "vivisection" as Sherlock had coined it after a particularly shattering "experiment" involving Molly - until Sherlock, with John's life in the balance, had finally managed to get through to her.

When Greg Lestrade had attended the scene at Musgrave Hall, he had by Sherlock's request looked after Eurus in as gentle and delicate manner as possible, as well as ensuring that Mycroft was taken care of and safely returned from her old cell at Sherrinford. It was the first time that Sherlock would make a point to properly remember Greg's first name, and the point at which Greg would judge that the "great man" Sherlock Holmes had finally become "a good one."

It had been Greg's first encounter with Eurus Holmes, but instead of anger at what she had done to his friends, he felt pity. He understood that she was a broken little girl who had grown into a broken young woman, and she needed careful handling if her pieces were ever to be in fit condition to be put back together again.

Several years after those events, Eurus sat silently, with her violin resting idly in her lap. She looked at it curiously, wondering when Sherlock would visit next. She had heard that he had a new playmate, and it was that curiously nice Detective Inspector who had taken her into custody at her old childhood home. He had accompanied Sherlock once before, a few years ago, for a visit of some kind.

Sherlock had mentioned him since then, had said that this man, this Detective Inspector Lestrade – Sherlock always called him Greg – played the guitar, and that they had teamed up with John to play together as a trio.

Eurus couldn't decide if she was jealous or not. Jealousy was a human emotion, one that she realized she experienced and knew well, but at the same time, hardly understood any better than she understood any other human emotion.

She only knew that she felt a strange and overwhelming compulsion to see Greg Lestrade again. She wanted to study him, play with him, to see what Sherlock saw in him… to see if she had anything to worry about.

She worried that she might lose her brother again.

She had lost him to Victor Trevor all those years ago. She had nearly – or so she merely thought – lost him to John Watson. But now she and Sherlock connected through their music, and that was special. Music was their bonding point. She wasn't sure if she wanted to share that with anyone or not, nor did she want to think that she may lose her beloved older brother again.

* * *

"Your sister wants to see me? Why the hell does Eurus want to see me?"

Greg was perplexed. An otherwise ordinary day, beginning with Greer's morning ritual of waking up with him – no longer on his chest, but her newly modified habit of being snuggled up to his side as tightly as she could manage – and helping him to prepare breakfast in the kitchen. The ordinary day then progressing in a normal fashion - meeting up with Sally in the ground floor landing of 221 Baker Street, departing for the Yard together. The usual routines, the usual coffee breaks, the usual briefings and debriefings, wrapping up a minor case quickly and dealing with the paperwork.

Then coming home to the chaos that was his family. Sweeping Greer up in his arms, a token protest that she was getting too big for this but willingly doing it anyway. Casual roughhousing with John and Scott, then choosing a book to read with them after dinner. Sauntering into the kitchen to greet Molly with a kiss that had waited all day with its usual patience – but showing no signs of that patience now that it had finally arrived. Molly warming up the meal he had prepared the night before as it was his turn to cook.

And then, in the midst of a particularly exciting chapter in the book his boys had chosen to read with their dad, Sherlock had texted him.

 _"Eurus wants to see you. Bring your guitar. ~SH"_

Sherlock hadn't had much of a response when Greg had demanded to know why Eurus wanted to see him.

He had merely shrugged his shoulders, saying simply, "Your guess is as good as mine."

When they had arrived and made their way through the various security checkpoints en route to her cell, Greg found himself standing next to Sherlock in front of Eurus, the glass wall, and several feet of clearance, separating them.

In his hand, he held his guitar case. Next to him, Sherlock stood holding his violin.

Eurus knew nothing of the ritual of niceties, and so she cut straight to the chase. "Why does my brother like to play with you? I had thought he only liked to play with me. I'm not sure I like you anymore, Inspector." Her face suddenly morphed, a concerned and worried little girl gazing back at Greg, rather than a determined woman.

Greg thought carefully on this. He knew from experience that the wrong way to respond to Eurus Holmes was with uncertainty, or any indication that she may have the upper hand.

She responded best to a challenge.

"Play with me and I'll tell you," he finally said, with a slight turning of his head. With a single look from Sherlock, Greg set down his guitar case. Opening it up, he extracted the instrument and brought the strap up around his neck. He plucked at the strings for a few brief moments, adjusting the tension until he was happy with the tuning, and then advance a few feet towards her cell.

Sherlock looked on curiously. Eurus looked to him for some sort of cue, but only received an expression of reassurance.

 _"_ _Trust me little sister,"_ it said. _"You've nothing to fear."_

Eurus took a deep breath, then locked her eyes with Greg's steady unyielding gaze.

"What would you like to play?" she asked, as she brought her violin up to position.

Greg smiled at her warmly. Sherlock had already given him a heads up to what she may most likely request, and he had practiced with him. The overwhelming consensus at 221 Baker Street was that it was a most enjoyable performance… however, the ears of Eurus Holmes were much more discerning than those of the friends and family at home.

"I think you already know, Eurus," Greg said. He held his smile, letting it settle into something more indicative of confident serenity than anything else. This seemed to calm the younger woman in front of him.

"Indeed," she said simply. "On your mark then," she prompted.

As Greg nodded, he began to play, Eurus joining him. Sherlock stood back and listened, appreciating, understanding what was happening.

He smiled at his sister playing with one of his dearest friends, knowing that this was something that Eurus needed badly to experience, to understand, and to accept.

When they had finished and the notes from their instruments had faded into the still air of the cell, Eurus looked at Greg curiously.

"Do you understand?" Greg asked, bringing his hands to rest casually on the guitar he kept positioned in front of him, strapped to his shoulders.

"I'm not sure," Eurus admitted. "I think… perhaps. Explain."

Sherlock raised a stern eyebrow as Eurus looked to him, and she hastily added, "Please."

"Your brother likes to play with me because he loves you. He misses you a great deal and he wishes that he could play with you more often than he can. So he plays with me until he can come to you." Greg's expression was neutral as he employed his usual poker face.

"He… loves… me?" Eurus asked. "Nobody loves me. I am unlovable. I cannot return that."

Greg glanced at Sherlock, who finally stepped forward to break his silence.

"But I DO love you, Sister. Very much. How could I not? You're family, my baby sister. I wish I had remembered sooner about you, but nothing can change the past. We can only move forward with open eyes into the future. Do you wish to have a future as my sister?"

Eurus stood gazing at him, her eyes shifting back and forth between the two men.

There it was. The affirmation she so badly needed and had sought.

"Yes," she finally said. "I've only wanted a sense of belonging. I believe I have that now." She allowed a small smile to play on her lips, to the amazement of the two men. "Yes," she said to Greg, turning her eyes upon him. "You'll do quite fine. Thank you… Greg."

Greg nodded serenely. "You're most welcome Eurus."

"Now," she said suddenly. "Shall we all play together? I'm SO bored only playing with you Sherlock. No offence brother but this place is such drudgery. As I said, Greg will do quite fine. I hope you've been clever enough to come prepared with an arrangement for a string trio?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, looking to Greg, who grinned at him in return. The two men turned to Eurus at the same time.

"We thought you'd never ask, Sister," Sherlock said with a small relieved chuckle.


	49. Old Souls

**Old Souls**

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship, family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, John and Alex, Julian and Emma, Mum and Dad Holmes, all background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Rosie, Julian, Greg, John, Sherlock_

* * *

"Rosa," Julian said one day while he and Rosie were spending a lazy Sunday afternoon together.

Rosie looked up, eyebrows raised under the blonde curls that adorned her forehead. "Hmm?" she asked, prompting him.

"Will you marry me?"

Rosie blinked a few times before giggling. "Of course I will, Jules. But we're only seven so I think we'll have to wait a bit, don't you?"

Julian grinned with contentment. "We're nearly EIGHT, but of course we'll have to wait. But I wanted dibs, and I can't imagine never spending any time with you ever again. I want to be happy with you when we've all grown up, like my mummy and daddy, and Mr. John and Miss Alex."

Rosie smiled at this. "And Uncle Sherlock and Auntie Sally," she said.

"And Mr. Greg and Mrs. Molly," Julian said, smiling bashfully now. "We aren't old enough yet to even be boyfriend and girlfriend, but you ARE my best friend in the whole world and I think that's a good start, don't you?"

Rosie sighed happily, gazing at Julian. HE was her best friend in the whole world too, and she knew she'd never want to say goodbye to him. She sometimes, in a wistful way, imagined that she'd like to be as old and happy with Julian as Uncle Sherlock and Uncle Mycroft's Mum and Dad were with each other.

"I want to take care of you forever and ever, Rosa," Julian said, smiling shyly and gazing at Maisie, who lay curled up in the corner working on a chew toy. He looked up at Rosie and blushed slightly.

"I don't need taking care of Jules," Rosie said, almost defensively as her brows furrowed over blue eyes.

Julian blushed almost apologetically. "No, I know that Rosa, I mean that's what I love most about you. You aren't a sissy girly girl. You're strong and stubborn." He smiled at her, hastily adding, "But in a GOOD way. What I mean is, I want to always be there, just in CASE."

Rosie sighed and nodded in approval at the explanation. "Wait… You love me?" Rosie asked, suddenly. "But we're only seven."

Julian laughed at this. "Of course I love you, you're my best friend. Promise me that won't ever change?"

"Of COURSE it won't! Jules Bailey don't be a silly goose! And anyway, I love you too, and since you say I'm stubborn, of course that won't ever change, will it?"

John, sitting with Greg and Sherlock, and having witnessed the entire exchange between his daughter and Julian Bailey, shared a look with his two best friends. "Oh boy," he said.

"I reckoned this would happen sooner or later, but I didn't think it would be this… early," Greg observed.

"Well," Sherlock said, "given their nearly instantaneous bond and the fact that they're practically joined at the hip, and the fact that their rows are easily forgiven when they bring logic and reason into them, the balance of probability…"

"Yes, yes, Sherlock. The balance of probability. I really hate it when you say that," John said. "It generally means you're right."

"I think he IS right, John," Greg said. "Some people meet their soulmates and grow old with them. Others meet their soulmates and grow up with them. I think we're watching two old souls right now." He smiled warmly, thinking back on the chain of the many small, seemingly unrelated events that had come together to bring Julian Bailey and Rosie Watson together as classmates and friends. "Some things, some people, are just meant to be."

John reflected on this for a few moments as the three men fell into silence.

"Fair enough, Greg," John finally conceded. "But I expect him to ask for my blessing in 15 years when they want to get married for real, though I suspect that young Julian is enough of a proper gentleman that I won't have to worry about that."

"I suspect you're most likely correct on that," Sherlock said, while Greg nodded in agreement.


	50. Gareth

_**Gareth**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _John and Alex, Kieran and Emma_

 ** _Main characters:_** _John, introducing Gareth Bailey_

* * *

John Watson sat with a contented baby snuggled into his arms, and he thoughtfully considered this.

It wasn't a surprise to anyone that his daughter Rosie and Kieran and Emma Bailey's son Julian had become inseparable, in fact, in their seven year olds way (well, nearly eight, he winced), they had promised never to part. It frankly wouldn't have surprised John to someday ACTUALLY be walking Rosamund down the aisle to marry Julian, fifteen or some odd years hence. In fact, it would have surprised him more to NOT be doing that.

Not that long ago, John reflected, he, Greg, and Sherlock had actually witnessed seven year old Julian proposing to Rosie. "Old souls," Greg had called them. Sherlock had agreed, citing one of his much loved "balance of probability" theories. John had put up a weak token reluctance, but in truth, he didn't mind really. They WERE only children and they had many years ahead of them before anything as drastic as actually giving his daughter away in marriage were to happen.

So to be, on a day off and spending a casual day with Alex, minding young Mr. Gareth Patrick Bailey, John felt not only at ease, but strangely contented. The Bailey family had always seemed to fit into their small and close circle of friends, as if they truly belonged and always had.

Kieran and Greg themselves had come full circle, in fact, having met on the very day that Kieran was born. John wondered if, upon reflection, this should have been a clue when, twenty-seven years later, Kieran had found himself to be Greg's new Detective Sergeant.

The rest of it had seemingly fallen into place with such obvious ease that even the most skeptical skeptic might have trouble arguing that fate hadn't, in fact, a hand in it.

Gareth himself was born a month early in defiance of his parents and his obstetrician both. John, as their GP, wasn't surprised in the least - with the exception of Greg and Molly's three, the children in John's life had all entered the world in a dramatic fashion, and so, without predjudice, Julian's baby brother had made his appearance after much drama as well. To nobody's shock, Gareth Patrick had endeared himself just as Julian had, to the gang at 221 Baker Street.

John, for his part, had missed in a way not having a son. Oh, he never begrudged his darling lamb Rosie, not for a single moment, but Mary's loss far too soon had brought to a halt any dreams of someday having a brother for her.

Now, here he was, holding little Gareth, and realizing how much he appreciated the little lad. Kieran and Emma had taken to leaving their boys with John whenever they could, simply because of Julian's bond with Rosie, but these days, with Julian, came Gareth.

John wouldn't go so far as to say that Gareth was filling in for the son he'd never had, but Julian had come to feel like a son to him as well, thanks to his bond with Rosie. Julian, however, had come into their midst at the tender age of six. Nobody at Baker Street had known the young boy when he was a mere babe in arms. Gareth, however, was a different story.

John Watson was going to have the opportunity to watch this young son of their good friends Kieran and Emma grow up. In fact, he suspected, he may even play a part in his raising, if these childminding visits were to continue through the coming years.

"Meant to be," he whispered, recalling what Greg had said about Rosie and Julian. "Indeed," he said, smiling.


	51. Time Well Spent

_**Time Well Spent**_

 _or_

 _ **The Hound of Baker Street**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, John and Alex mentioned_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Ensemble_

* * *

Sherlock didn't wake completely just yet.

Only just enough to tighten his arm around the small daughter who was scooched up close to him. He mumbled something unintelligible to Grace, whose response was to merely clench her little fists and bury her face further into his t-shirt. Thus reassured, in his semi-conscious way, he then drifted back to sleep.

Sally, sleeping only twins' width from her husband, found herself doing the same thing, only she awoke long enough to question why her little son was so insistent.

"Can't sleep mummy," Michael mumbled. "She's too noisy."

"MMMm kay," Sally murmured, before tightening her arm around her little boy and falling back into her slumber.

When the entire Holmes family finally stirred too early the next morning, they found a soundly content and sleeping pocket beagle still snoring loudly on the foot of the bed.

"Well that explains it," Sherlock said, bleary eyed and thickly.

"Damned good thing she's cute, because she's a pain in the ass," Sally said, just before surrendering to a wide yawn. "Do you suppose Greg and Greer have breakfast going yet?" she asked.

Sherlock, now fully awake, paused. He sniffed the air, his eyebrow raised.

"Yes… I believe so. Greg is cooking bacon. Oh God bless the man. Sherla is likely watching the coffee pot, no doubt, I know he's taught her how to make it by now, what a wonderful girl, a gorgeous, clever, clever girl…"

Sherlock arose, grabbing his blue dressing gown, as Sally followed suit. Maisie, stirring from the disturbance and snorting loudly as she awoke with a start, pointed her keen hound nose into the air, and with one brief sniff, jumped down and high-tailed it downstairs to 221C.

"Yes," Sherlock said, watching the eager tail wagging in delight as it vanished down the hallway without further ado, and reflecting on the immense power of a beagle's sense of smell. "He's definitely cooking bacon."

"Do you suppose they have eggs too?" Sally asked. She was tired, but she was hungry, and she had come to know Greg as a better than average decent cook. "I was supposed to pick some up this week but I forgot."

"Greg is clever in his way," Sherlock replied. "When it comes to preparing meals he is cleverer than I could ever be," he said, not without a measure of appreciation. "Come to think of it, he is clever in many practical ways. I'm quite useless in some regards, I think," he said. Sally wrapped an arm around his waist with a smile.

"We all have our strong suits, Git," she said softly. "Cooking just isn't yours, is all. He's probably left the tea for you to make though. He usually does."

Sherlock smiled warmly at his wife. "Hmmm, indeed," he said, bending to kiss her temple. "Well I'm sure Molly ensured to pick up eggs, love. No worries." He nodded at John as his friend stumbled into the landing, pausing only long enough for Rosie to join him. Rosie yawned and took the Holmes twins by the hands, leading them blearily down the stairs.

"Wondered when your sorry arses would show up," Greg said brightly, as he saw the gang arrive. "Maisie started out in the boys' room," he said. "Then she wandered up. Guessing someone was having a late snack. Now she's sniffed out a little brekkie and come back. Hope you're all hungry?"

Sherlock thought about the toasted muffin Sally had gotten up for and sighed. Maisie may "technically" be a Holmes, but she was, realistically, a resident of the whole of 221 Baker Street, without boundaries. In typical beagle fashion, Maisie, with her hound's sense of smell that left even the average dog's nose in the dust, could sniff out a snack in epically efficient fashion.

The main door leading to the street was locked to 221 Baker Street, but once within its walls, the flat doors were ajar and a certain set of pets – namely two cats, and a juvenile pocket beagle, had the general run of the place.

Sally's belly gurgled slightly as her mouth began to water. "Maisie's not the only one sniffing out brekkie. I'm bloody starving, Greg. What can we do to help?"

Sherlock glared at his wife only long enough to appreciate that it was unwise to challenge her suggestion that they help out with the cooking when she was on the verge of being hangry. "Scrambled eggs are a delicate thing. It's all in the wrist, you see, I'm not sure I have the…" He grinned sheepishly at her look of warning just as she reached for a whisk and handed it to him. "Yes, Old Plod. I love you, have I told you that of late? Shall I whip them clockwise or counterclockwise?" He leaned down to kiss her lightly.

"Where are the sausages," a voice said from inside the fridge. "It's not proper breakfast without the sausages."

Greg glanced at John, or rather John's arse sticking out from behind the fridge door. "Second shelf, behind the apple juice," he said. "By all means, hop in, I think Molly has a spare pinny in the drawer." He fired an amused look at their doctor friend and laughed out loud as John stood up straight, displaying said pinny already tied around his compact frame.

Sherlock snorted in amusement, then said, "I'll pick up more sausages this week. I believe it's my turn next."

By then, Molly had appeared and was supervising young John and Scott in opening the tins of baked beans. The boys giggled as they turned the handle, envisioning their dad and their uncles holding their old man toots. Or NOT holding them, as the circumstances may dictate.

Mrs. Hudson, fashionably late by wisdom, arrived with a container of scones, just in time to take in the atmosphere, and the meal.

"Oh, I love this so," she gushed. "Everyone together for breakfast. It makes me feel as though I'm more than just your housekeeper."

John, Sherlock, and Greg, all fired a shocked look at her. Mrs. Hudson had expected as much, indeed had counted on it.

"You're not our housekeeper," John said flatly, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

"Well, that's good you've finally realized it, John. Heavens it took you longer to figure that out than for me to accept that you and Sherlock weren't a gay couple. Not that there would have been anything wrong with that, of course." Mrs. Hudson smiled serenely in gratitude as Sherlock poured her a cup of tea and quietly murmured thank you to Johnnie as he brought a plate to her at the table.

"You're not out landlady either, Hudders," Sherlock said with finality, reaching his hand to her back and giving it a quick gentle rub. This earned a look of surprise from the older woman.

"You're family," Greg said as he brought a pitcher of juice to the table. He leaned down to place a quick peck on the older woman's temple. "Baker Street's matriarch. But as such it's your turn to take that bloody beagle tonight. 221 is your house after all and you agreed to her." Mrs. Hudson feigned a stern look, while sneaking Maisie a bite of bacon under the table.

Sherlock nodded in agreement, and set his cup of coffee down just long enough to pull Greer up into his arms for a quick hug. Greer may have only been four years old, but her dad had taught her well under his close supervision. Proving that she was, indeed, her father's daughter, Greer's coffee was just as good as Greg's was, even if she did still need her daddy's help with some of it. "Excellent coffee as always, my Sherla-Girl," he whispered. Greer giggled at this, as Sherlock planted a kiss on her cheek. "One day soon, when you're bigger and have a good strong and steady hand, I shall teach you how to make a proper cup of tea."

"I'll pick up bacon this week as well," John said casually as he dished up more eggs for Rosie. "How are we for potatoes?" Greg took a quick peek around to the potato bin, replying to John only with a thumbs up.

A couple of months prior, when the gang had first gathered together spontaneously in Greg and Molly's kitchen for breakfast, Molly had looked around the table as her nearest and dearest shared the meal – and the time together. "You know, it almost seems as though we could make this a weekly Sunday morning breakfast date," Molly had commented casually, as she had helped Sherlock cut up the food on Michael and Grace's plates. "Darling, what do you think?" she asked, turning to look at Greg.

Greg seemed to think on this for only a few brief moments as he finished chewing and swallowing. "Don't see why not. I enjoy cooking like this and it's nice to have everyone together," he smiled at her. "Might be something to look forward to every week."

John grinned at this. "We might see each other more often then. For a group of people living under one roof, we don't seem to REALLY get together as often as one would think we might. I'm sure I could spare some time to contribute some breakfast baking as well, now and then. I don't think Alex would mind joining us too once in awhile, she's a ravenous appetite some mornings," he chuckled, smiling softly at the thought of his girlfriend.

Greg snorted at this as he buried his face into his coffee cup, and Molly gave him a warning look and a gentle elbow to the ribs. "No worries Love, the children are here too," he whispered with a mischievous gleam in his brown eyes.

Now, after the weekly ritual had been established, Maisie made her routine rounds at the table. The young dog, having maxed out her bacon privileges with Mrs. Hudson, had moved on to Rosie, resting her chin on the girl's lap and gazing up at her with the pleading expression that only a hound could muster.

The small beagle had no understanding of the plans that had been made to repeat each week, she only knew that her people were all gathered together, and a good number of treats were to be had. If she could have given an opinion on this, she would have been in wholehearted agreement that it was time well spent.

* * *

 **Author's note: Maisie's behaviour is inspired by my own 13" beagle, Molly, and as I type this, she is dead-to-the-world sleeping, and snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Ah, hounds!**


	52. A Good Day to Be Alive

_**A Good Day to Be Alive**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly_

* * *

"Oh my God!" Molly cried suddenly, jumping back from the steel table with a small shriek. She blinked, then stepped forward again, promptly dropping the scalpel she held in her hand back onto the tray beside her. Her hands began to shake with the knowledge of what she had been about to do.

She leaned over the body, closely watching the face. She held her breath as her attention fell on the eyes of the young athletic woman who lay before her. She let it out in a rush as her hand, completely breaking protocol, flew to her mouth, and then to the young woman's neck, seeking out her carotid artery.

Molly dealt with the dead, and as such, her place was in the morgue. Molly's charges were the unfortunates who found themselves on her steel post-mortem table. Whether they died expectedly or unexpectedly, whether they had left this earth in a timely, or untimely manner, it was part of Molly's job to explain why they were there.

This young woman, a college student on an athletics scholarship, had appeared on initial examination, to have passed away from cardiac arrest on the race track. Suddenly, however, she no longer fell within the definition of one of Molly's charges.

This woman was, most decidedly, not dead.

Cursing the fact that a stethoscope was useless in the mortuary, Molly quickly called upstairs for assistance, and then she got to work, doing the best she could with what she had on hand.

* * *

Greg, having arrived home ahead of Molly for once, busied himself in the kitchen preparing dinner. He had arrived well early enough to give their childminder an early dismissal, and greet his children in their routine - Greer swept up into his arms for a cuddle, a book chosen with Johnnie and Scott for later on. He smiled to himself at the memory of the text message he had received from his wife several hours prior.

 _You know how you say that some days aren't good days? ML_

 _Yes, Love? GL_

 _This is a good day. A very, very good day. =D ML_

 _Wonderful, sweetheart. What's happened? GL_

 _I was prevented from doing my job today. ML_

 _Okay… and…? GL_

 _I'll explain when I get home. I love you Gregory! ML_

 _I love you too Molly :) See you later Love. GL_

Now, sliding a casserole dish into the oven chamber and glancing over at his sons playing with their Lego sets, and his daughter busy with a colouring book, Greg shook his head, smiling to himself. He honestly hadn't the foggiest idea what Molly was on about, but he knew that generally at best, Molly usually came home from work happy to be done with it for the day. At worst, she came home subdued and quiet, when a particularly difficult case had found its way to her midst.

This day, however, something had made it absolutely marvelous. He went to the fridge and pulled out a cold beer, twisting the cap off. Turning to the dining table, he sat down with the newspaper he had picked up over his lunch hour and began to browse.

Some 30 minutes later, when Molly appeared at the door, she made her way through her children in much the same way that Greg always did, then appeared in the kitchen in front of him. Greg grinned at the light in her eyes. Something had definitely made her day.

"Well?" he asked, after he'd pulled her into his arms and soundly kissed her hello. "What's happened to make my already beautiful wife so radiantly gorgeous?"

"An accidental incidence of induced hypothermic coma," Molly said, mysteriously, reaching her hand up to trace the contours of his face.

"Eh?" Greg asked, raising an eyebrow. He understood the terminology, but not the finer details. After all, he was a Detective Inspector, not a doctor.

"Today I had a young college student in the mortuary, only nineteen years old. She had been in the cooler of course, waiting her turn. She had been a track athlete and had collapsed on the race track from an apparent heart attack while training for hurdles." Molly sighed contentedly as she played with Greg's collar.

"When I pulled her out to begin her post mortem, I saw movement in her eyelids. Honestly it scared the shit out of me," Molly giggled softly. "There's nothing spookier than a dead body suddenly moving about on the table."

Greg nodded in agreement. He had seen a lot in his time, and he could withstand a lot of sights and sounds as a result without so much as blinking an eye, but there was no question that a suddenly undead in the place of the dead would be particularly off-putting.

"So I called for help and did what I could. It turns out, she didn't die on the track after all. She just managed to hang on, and when she was cooled, she was put into a hypothermic state. Being dead saved her life, darling."

"That is absolutely amazing, Love," Greg smiled, leaning down to kiss her. "I had a good day as well, but not nearly as interesting. I'm not sure I could ever top that."

"I'm not sure I could either now," Molly said, wrapping her arms around him and settling happily against his chest. "Every day is a good day to be alive, Gregory. But today especially, is a good one."


	53. Like Father, Like Daughter

_**Author's note: This story is set in the future, and is NOT meant to imply that the children of this universe are to be permanently aged to adulthood. This was a plot bunny that came to me and it seemed to fit here. Rest assured, the children of the Mollstrade Universe are still going to be young in the following chapters, whenever or whatever it will be!**_

* * *

 _ **Like Father, Like Daughter**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, John and Alex, Phillip and Jackie, Rosie and Julian, all background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greer, first person perspective, as an adult_

* * *

Nobody really knows when I actually decided.

Not even Dad, and he knows everything about me. I was a daddy's girl the moment I was born, and to this day, that hasn't changed a whit.

I vaguely remember sleeping on his chest when I was only a wee little girl, all arms and legs and not much else just yet. Gangly and lithe, like Morrie was before he turned into a strapping handsome cat who played hellfire and damnation on every mouse on Baker Street. Those times are more snapshots than anything else, in my memories.

Ah yes… Dad's "Little Love". He still calls me that to this day, even though I've taken after him in TWO ways – I have his eyes, for one. Expressive, dark, shaped just like his, and Mum says absolutely gorgeous, and the reason she was never much good at saying no to me when dad had caved already.

I think she's a bit biased there, but to each her own. She's my beautiful Mum and she's entitled.

But I also took after Dad's height. In his eyes I'll always be his Little Love, but now I'm anything but little - I tower over Mum in spite of looking like her in every other way, and I look at him on level with the eyes he gave me when he calls me that.

Lestrade staring down Lestrade, with those trademark dark expressive Lestrade eyes.

Other than that, I'm the picture of Mum, and I know that's always delighted him.

No, as far as my parents know, I decided the summer before I turned 18 years old. By then, they were more accepting of it, thinking that it was an informed and carefully thought out decision, that I wasn't simply wooed by both Julian's decision to follow his own Dad's footsteps and become a Yarder, and the obvious case of hero worship I held for Dad.

He was everyone's hero, he still is. DI Greg Lestrade, at the time. He's been promoted since then, of course. Detective Chief Inspector Greg Lestrade, we call him. On duty, he's Sir. Off duty, he's Daddy.

But, not just him, of course. We had other heroes equally important growing up. Uncle John, and Uncle Sherlock. Julian's Dad too, and Auntie Sally was our heroine, though she downplayed it. Mum always did inspire us, even Uncle Phillip Anderson was an influence, in his way, though I'm not sure he's even aware of it.

Jule and I hope only to be half the coppers as our Dads and Aunt Sally are, and do half as well as they all did.

Indeed, I decided even before Julian did, when he was seventeen. He was torn. He knew he was going to marry Rosie one day only a few years down the road, and even as a teenager, he always had her in mind before making decisions. Of course, Rosie being Rosie and growing up as she did, she supported Julian becoming a copper even before he decided he wanted to be one. She already knew he was going to follow Kieran's footsteps. She deduced it when they were ten.

I decided, if the honest truth were told, when I was fourteen. I'm not sure why it was then, it was just one of those things that a very young woman does. "Girls have their shit together a lot sooner than boys do," Ciana's dad says.

Where Uncle Phillip got that wisdom, we're not quite sure, but as a forensics scientist, I suppose he has a trained eye for detail. Ciana herself has always had a good head on her shoulders. Uncle Phillip always says she gets that from Jackie. "Lord knows I can be a scatterbrain when I'm not wrist deep in evidence in the lab," he's been known to say. "All the good sense she's got in her pretty little head comes from her mother, you can be sure of that."

At fourteen, I was too young to be an adult, but no longer a child. I drove my brothers off their trolley back then. They hadn't a clue what to do with me.

Scott wanted me to have the freedom to go on a little date now and then, with him escorting us discreetly, of course. It was the only way Dad would allow it at first.

John acquired a small treasure box at a thrift shop, and with a bit of craft paint and some artistic flair he wrote on the lid, "Testicle Collection."

As an afterthought, he added, in small print, "Keep frozen."

I think he intended to have a chat with any boy who fancied me and show him that little box. If they passed the mettle test, they may proceed… with Scott's escort, of course.

Mum blanched at it. Auntie Alex giggled. Auntie Sally grinned and winked.

Dad, Uncle John, and Uncle Sherlock simply nodded in unanimous approval.

Uncle Phillip asked if John might craft one for him, because Ciana was a little beauty and he reckoned having his own would be rather handy in a few years.

Men and their daughters.

Dad tells me not to try to fill his shoes, that I have my own shoes and they fit me perfectly and nobody else. Julian has been a Yarder for a few more years than I have. His dad has taught him well to accept his own strengths and gifts, to be his own copper. Dad has taught me to do that as well.

For now, I'm simply a young Police Constable, still in uniform, still on the beat until I can earn my way through the ranks and start preparing to take those detective exams. Biding my time and learning the ways of those of us who are in the trenches, as Dad says.

Where would the Detectives be without the uniforms? he always says. Someone has to do the grunt work. Never think I'm better than them once I'm in plain clothes, he says. Never forget I was once one too.

The uniforms, Dad says, are the first responders. We have to have the gumption and the steady hand, the clear frame of mind. We are to the Detectives what the paramedics are to the doctors. Never discount our role, he says, just because we aren't plain clothes and carry a fancy title that in truth, doesn't give any higher rank than one without "Detective" in front. He always reminds us of that. Making or breaking a witness, or a victim, can come down to how a uniform responds to them at first contact. Uncle Phillip always reminds us as well, it's the uniforms who are responsible for securing a crime scene and preserving the integrity of the evidence it holds. Many a case, he tells us, was made and solved because the uniformed officers were prompt, cognizant, and diligent in their duties.

Dad, Aunt Sally, and Kieran have always said that Julian and I should appreciate our time in uniform, because after that, if we choose, comes a lot more responsibility, a lot more burden. A lot more sleepless nights and even a part of our souls. The Criminal Investigative Division of the Met demands no less.

Jule is a Sergeant already and I know he's gearing up to start studying for his Detective exams soon. He's going to be a cracker of a detective, our Jule.

We've learned a lot from our small group of adult mentors, but I believe our most important lesson has come from Dad. He has taught us that while it's critical to be observant, like Uncle Sherlock, and remember we deal with real people, like Uncle John and Kieran, dogged, like Aunt Sally, and aware of our surroundings for the sake of the evidence, like Mum and Uncle Phillip, if we lose our own sense of humanity along the way, it will all be for naught.

"Greer," he said to me the day I graduated and earned my warrant card, "the moment you become so cynical that you lose your own humanity, you'd best be thinking about another job, because you're going to be a shit copper."

Mum didn't even frown at him by then. Dad knew what I was made of, and so did she, and like Dad, I tell it like it is.

"A shit copper, yeah?" I said. "Never, Daddy. I've too many heroes who have taught me well to ever be a shit copper."

"Oh, Greer," Mum just said. "Like father, like daughter. I suppose I wouldn't have you any other way."

The way Daddy smiled at her in response, I know he wouldn't either.


	54. To Serve and to Protect

_**To Serve and to Protect**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Angst, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _None mentioned_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Greer as an adult_

* * *

Greg paused outside the doors. He had a gut feeling drawing him there. An instinct telling him this is where he would find who he was looking for. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door inwards and entered.

Taking a quick glance around, he didn't know if he should be relieved or not to find his daughter in a corner, nursing a glass of scotch.

He approached slowly, casually almost, pausing only a minute to order and collect a pint to carry with him.

"Thought I'd find you here," he said casually, as he sat down.

Greer looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and her face blank, no recognition seeming to register.

Adrenaline spent, and then gone numb, Greg realized.

"Tell me about today," he said quietly.

There was a long silence as Greer weighed her words and Greg sat it out. He'd been a young Sergeant himself once, and he'd had his first crime scene like this one too.

"Sergeant Lestrade," Greg said gently but firmly. "Report to me. Now. That's an order."

Greer sat a moment longer, before she finally looked up.

"I'm sure you've the report on your desk, Sir," she finally said. "No doubt you've reviewed it already, seen the officers involved."

"Yeah," Greg said, casually, calmly. "I've read them. Detective Sergeant Bailey's lot was called in, I see. His DI commended him, and you as well. So did Julian. DS Bailey, I mean. He made special mention of you, in fact. Both he and his DI commended your professional conduct."

"Did they, now," Greer said, as she contemplated her glass, then raised it for a pull.

"I didn't do anything Sir. All I did was take the call." Greer started to fidget with her glass, and Greg knew.

He knew not only from knowing his daughter, but from knowing the young uniforms he'd worked with over the years.

Hell, he knew from being one himself, what felt a lifetime ago.

His daughter was a textbook case. He hated it, but at the same time, he was relieved this career inevitability had finally happened.

He knew from the reports how Sergeant Greer Lestrade had arrived on the scene, had conducted herself with the lone surviving witness - a traumatized child no less - and made the difference for the rest of the case. How she had taken control of the scene and prevented it from being compromised while she and the PC she was with waited for backup.

How she had risen from the trenches bloodied but unbowed.

At least it wasn't anything unusually horrible. It was simply horrible. That, he could relate to, and help her with, at least.

"Another round, Little Love?"

Greer seemed to stir from her trance, finally realizing who she was actually sitting with.

She raised her face and gazed at Greg with his eyes. In a flash, they brimmed over and she fought it.

"Daddy… does it get easier?"

Greg smiled sadly before shifting himself around to sit next to his daughter, wrapping a protective arm around her.

"No, Little Love. It doesn't, nor should it. EVER. But you get used to it, and you learn to cope. This," he said, waving at the near empty tumbler that sat in front of her, "isn't necessarily the best way. But this time, it's your way. Next time, maybe you'll have a different way."

Greer nodded, as she brought her hands up to fall apart.

Greg waited patiently for the torrential gale to pass, as his daughter trembled and shook with catharsis.

When it finally had, he spoke.

"I'm so very, very proud of you my little lass," he said. "You made a difference today, not only to a case and to a crime scene, but to a person. Your conduct was everything we are supposed to be as Yarders."

Greer sat a few moments, composing herself, finding her voice.

"To serve and to protect, yeah?"

"Yeah," Greg said, giving his daughter a squeeze and leaning over to kiss her temple. He lingered there a moment, then rested his forehead against his daughter's hair, saying softly, "to serve and to protect."


	55. The Bird Always Knows

_**Author's Note: While the last two chapters were Future Fics featuring Greer as an adult, with this chapter, we return to the present day with our Mollstrade universe.**_

* * *

 _ **The Bird Always Knows**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly forefront, Sherlock and Sally, John and Alex, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, adults ensemble_

* * *

"She isn't going to like this one bit, darling," Molly said worriedly, her voice breaking. "There's simply NO way she isn't going to see straight through all of this. It's just so… bloody UNFAIR."

Greg wrapped his arms around Molly under their covers and held her tightly. "I know, love. Nobody here likes it, but it has to be. Mrs. Hudson has always been our rock and our Baker Street matriarch. She's looked after all of us and now it's our turn."

Molly clung to Greg, letting his familiar scent soothe her and calm her breaking heart. "She's always been so vibrant and spirited. This is going to feel like caging a bird," she said, as her tears began to flow. "I can't bear the thought of it, Gregory."

Greg sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He was nearing the point in this day where he wasn't sure anymore who was comforting who, exactly. He held his wife closely, winding a hand through her hair and letting her tighten her arms around him. He took a deep breath, soaking in the scent of her shampoo and lotion, something that to Greg, smelled so much like home and was always a balm to his heart.

"Well, sweetheart, we're trying to do this in such a way as to avoid caging her, as much as possible." He pulled himself back a few inches, bringing his hand up to lift Molly's chin. He smiled at her softly as she blinked back tears, "It'll all be okay, I promise. It'll be fine." He bent his head down and kissed her softly, tasting her tears and feeling the tension in her face relax under his touch.

Greg himself was beginning to wonder at the wisdom of the decision he had been part of that day, the one regarding Mrs. Hudson's care after a heart attack, followed by a minor stroke.

Even he had to admit, however, that they had been left with few options and they had done what they could with the ones they had. He felt, in his gut, that they had made the right choice.

A Baker Street family meeting had ensued after she had stabilized, with Sherlock, John, and Greg assembling in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. Alex, now as much a part of the family as anyone, joined them just as Sally and Molly had arrived.

John, as their GP and having been in consultation with the doctors in that capacity, spoke first.

"Now while it's true that her stroke was mild, she's still not escaped the after-effects," John began. "She's weakened on one side, and may require assistance in many day to day things. It's a hard thing to consider, but she may not be able to do everything she used to do, and other things she will be impaired. Unfortunately, it's the side with her good hip that's been affected."

A silence fell over the group, until Sherlock finally cleared his throat. "Right, then. As our GP, what would you recommend we do, John?"

John took a breath, letting it out slowly. "We'll need to have someone with her at all times, in case she falls, or to catch her if she begins to. Her bad hip has proven to be problematic for years and it's only gotten progressively worse. I suspect there may be more going on that we realize with that. Nobody likes the word osteoporosis, but I believe she may be facing that to some degree as well. Should she take a fall, she may break it, and I'm afraid that could prove to be…"

"Yes, John," Greg said suddenly. "We know what could happen there. She isn't going to like being coddled and treated like a child. Would any of us like that? Especially since we're all just as stubborn and independent as Mrs. Hudson is."

"It's going to have to become her new normal, I'm afraid," Alex finally spoke up. "Mrs. Hudson is a spitfire, but that doesn't negate the fact that she is elderly, and she has had a stroke. We may have to proceed in a way which doesn't appear to be what it actually is. Mrs. Hudson may not like being coddled, but she loves being fawned over. We simply must find a way to make our efforts at caring for her seem less obvious."

"I agree," Sally said. "but it isn't practical for us to be here all the time. Greg and I are generally busy with the Yard, Molly has her own job, and none of our hours are ever guaranteed to be regular. John, you have your regular hours at the surgery, and Sherlock," she said, turning to her husband, "you're here more than the rest of us but your own work takes you away at random times."

"Darling," Molly said, turning to Greg. "What do you think we should do?"

Greg started, confused, as everyone turned to him.

"Why do you suppose I would know?" he asked, softly.

Sherlock cleared his throat softly. "Well, it's obvious, really," he said gently, almost shyly. "Mrs. Hudson may be Baker Street's matriarch, but we also have a patriarch. And it's not myself, or John."

Greg's eyebrows shot up. "I'm afraid I'm not quite sure I understand what you're getting at, Sherlock."

"Well, aside from the obvious factor of you being the oldest tenant here apart from Mrs. Hudson herself, you have wisdom the rest of us lack. I suppose you've missed the number of times I've looked up to you over the years as a father figure?"

Greg's face went slightly blank. "Sherlock, you've only begun to remember my first name in the last several years. Forgive me if I have, in fact missed that."

"Well," Sherlock said, "in my own defence, how many children call a parental figure by their first name? Of course I wasn't going to remember it."

Greg's eyebrow rose at that, but he remained silent.

Sherlock sighed. "What am I saying, of course you've missed it," he muttered softly. "Look, Greg… I think we're all in agreement that one of us must make these difficult decisions, even after we've discussed them. Someone must make that call. So," Sherlock said, looking at Greg in the eye, "what would you suggest we do?"

The room once again fell silent as Greg seemed to absorb this. Finally, taking a deep breath, he spoke.

"I believe the best course of action right now would be for Mrs. Hudson to have a live-in nurse. But, they should be someone familiar to her, so as to remain… a bit not obvious." Greg paused, as his words seemed to register amongst the people gathered.

"Of course the decision is NOT mine, I merely suggest it as a possible course of action. But Alex… since you spend several nights per week here anyway…"

Greg let his words trail off deliberately, as he raised his eyes to John's, and shifted his gaze back and forth between him and Alex.

"You're suggesting that Alex… move into 221A with us?"

Greg smiled, sitting back. "Yes," he said to John. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting. Besides the fact that she's a registered nurse, Alex is familiar to Mrs. Hudson, in fact Mrs. H considers Alex to be family. I know for a fact that she's been asking when you and she are going to be moving in together. I suppose she's assumed you'd be moving out with Rosie, though."

Alex sat quietly next to John, considering Greg's words, letting them sink in.

"John?" she finally asked, turning to him. "We've not ruled that out when discussing it, darling. What do you think? This may be an ideal solution. She's still not going to be happy with being restricted, but it's better than the alternative. A nursing home would break her spirit just as easily as a cage would break a bird. Besides, I'm not sure her condition is serious enough to warrant a nursing home. She's not an invalid, she's simply much more delicate than she's ever been."

And so, the decision had been made.

Alex would move in to 221A on the mostly pretense of simply wanting to take her relationship with John to the next level.

This didn't make it any easier for anyone to accept the reality of why this must be, however, and later on, after turning in for the night, Molly found herself breaking down in her husband's arms.

"How can you possibly promise that it will be okay, Gregory," Molly said sadly, as Greg reluctantly broke the tender kiss.

"Because I have faith in all of us here, and I see for myself how much we all love Mrs. Hudson. Even if she figures it out, well she may not be happy about it, she'll mostly feel she's been tricked, but I believe she'll understand. Anyway she's always been spunky. She'll just be happy to have Alex and John living together, even if it's across the hall from her bedroom." He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling with mischief.

Molly regarded him carefully for a moment, before she allowed herself to smile.

"We'll not be caging the bird after all, then, will we. It'll just feel like it for awhile, I suppose."

"Yeah," Greg said, bringing his hand around to stroke her face with the back of his fingers. "The thing is, love, a bird knows when it's been caged, and when it's been left its own freedom to fly. It's only us who think otherwise. The bird always knows, though."


	56. Why London Has Yet to Fall

_**Why London Has Yet to Fall**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, John and Alex, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Mrs. Hudson_

* * *

Mrs. Hudson's frown was turning into a scowl.

She never imagined levelling such a dirty look at such a handsome specimen of a young man as Greg Lestrade.

But damnit anyway, he may be dishy as hell, but he still had it coming.

"Greg," she said, in a scolding tone.

"Fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, fifteen eight…" Greg said, a clear note of innocence in his gravelly baritone.

"Gregory…" Mrs. Hudson warned.

"Sixteen for the runs…"

"Gregory Joseph, you WOULDN'T."

"Actually Mrs. H, it's not me. It's the cards you dealt. No worries, I'm sure there's nothing in the crib…"

"Fine. So you have…" she said, concentrating on the cards and counting in her head.

"Yes… I have…" Greg prompted gently. Mental exercises were good for Mrs. Hudson, and playing cribbage was one of their favourite ways to do that. A little bit of of a mental workout to keep her mind sharp, and a healthy bit of friendly competition to keep her spirit sharp as well, and more than a little innocent flirtation to keep her young at heart.

Mrs. Hudson fired a look of pure disgust at him as she mentally calculated his score. She watched with no relief as his crib turned up empty. With more than a little bit of competitive resentment, she moved his peg up the board the 24 points he'd just scored.

"Gregory Joseph Lestrade!" she declared, after she'd moved his cribbage peg, then crossed her arms in disgust.

Greg sat back meekly, clearing his throat as he turned over the cards in his crib. "See, at least there's nothing in my crib at all. I told you."

"If I were thirty years younger, I'd have my way with you, you handsome little morsel," she said, her expression turning on the charm.

"Mrs. Hudson, if you were thirty years younger, I'm sure you might try, and if not for Molly, you just might succeed. I can see quite clearly you were a real knockout in your day," he said, smiling at her. In all honesty, he was telling the truth. A lady held certain qualities even through the decades, and by that, Greg knew that in her day, Mrs. Hudson had been a genuine looker.

"You're still a beautiful lady. But you're not going to charm me with your feminine wiles to forfeit a game I am clearly…" he checked the board, "about to skunk you in."

Mrs. Hudson took a breath and let it out with frustration. "Well… if we were BOTH fifty years younger then, I'd have you over my knee giving you a right spanking for sassing me this way, young man." Her eyes followed Greg as he rose to fetch the tea pot on the counter.

"I'm sure you would try," he said, as he poured her a fresh cup, and bent down to give her a solid kiss on her cheek as he set it in front of her.

"Ohhhhh… YOU…" she protested, as she smiled and blushed.

"So, did John and Alex say when they would be back tomorrow?" Greg asked. He knew what the plans were, but had decided to see if Mrs. Hudson could remember it.

"Tomorrow around noon, I believe," she said, stirring her tea. "Oh, I'm so happy they've managed a weekend away," she smiled. "Alex has been wonderful company but honestly… she can be a bit… smothering at times."

Greg nodded thoughtfully. "Well, she IS a nurse. Caregiving comes naturally to her. I suppose she can't really help herself. Just as Sherlock can't help deducing everything within a quarter kilometer radius, and John can't help diagnosing or reconning, or whatever he does depending on who he's with."

"And you can't help bluffing your way through a questioning to get to the truth," was her reply. Greg held a neutral expression as Mrs. Hudson raised an eyebrow at him, indicating he was nicked.

"The thing is, Greg… might I tell you a little secret? Just between ourselves?"

Greg smiled at her warmly. "Of course, Mrs. H. You know you can tell me anything at all."

Mrs. Hudson paused a moment, contemplating her tea cup a little too intently. Finally, she looked up to greet his dark brown eyed gaze.

"I know why Alex is really here."

Greg raised his eyebrow, locking his eyes with Mrs. Hudson's.

"I know it's because of my stroke, and my hip… I know why she's fawning over me so. I DO appreciate it. It does make me feel so loved and appreciated." She cleared her throat as her voice began to thicken.

"So I'm happy that she and John have taken a weekend for themselves. I hate being a burden, even if I'm your landlady, I don't wish to be a burden…"

"Oh, no," Greg said suddenly, soothingly, reaching out for her hand. "You're not a burden Mrs. H, not at all. Never! We're just watching out for you is all. Alex happens to be a nurse and she happens to be planning her forever with John. So, you see your stroke seemed a perfect opportunity for her to move in with him and really dive into our little family here. She loves you as much as the rest of us do."

Greg sighed softly. "You've spent years looking after us. It's just our turn to return the favour, is all."

Mrs. Hudson seemed to accept this explanation after several quiet moments. "Well then," she finally said. "I think I fancy a dance. It does my hip good to move around a bit and it does help me to get my strength and balance back. I could swan about with my walker but it's not near as good looking as you are," she laughed softly. "Sherlock left some recorded music. Some of it is him, some of it is him and Eurus. And did you know that he recorded a bit when you were with him at Sherrinford and the two of you were playing with her? Oh it's lovely, Greg, the three of you sound so marvelous together... And of course our Baker Street Trio is recorded too… oh don't tell John, he'd be mortified! He does have SUCH a lovely voice."

Greg wasn't quite sure what to say to this, so he simply stood and bowed. "Milady, may I have this dance, then?"

Mrs. Hudson blushed, then motioned that she'd like to stand. Greg went to her, offering his hand in case she felt she needed the extra boost. To his relief and delight, she managed to make it to her feet on her own power, and hold her balance for the most part.

"It would be my honour and privilege, Sir," she said softly, grasping his hand and allowing him to lead her to the open floor of the living room. There, he started the music she had ready, and as the opening notes of Sherlock's violin and Greg's guitar, accompanied by John's sweet tenor began to ring through the air of 221A, Greg swept her into a slow dance, as Mrs. Hudson said admonishingly, "even though you shamelessly skunk a helpless old lady."

Greg laughed at this. "YOU, Mrs. Hudson? Helpless? Bollocks! Why, YOU'RE the reason London has yet to fall!"


	57. A Thousand Years

**A Thousand Years**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _John and Alex, with Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Ensemble_

* * *

"I know it's a bit of an unusual request, Mrs. Hudson, but I would be honoured if you said yes," John said with a hopeful smile. "I know it isn't generally done this way, but since when do we ever do things the way they're generally done?"

Mrs. Hudson sat at the dining table with tears in her eyes. She wasn't generally prone to such blubbering, but this time she couldn't help it. Tears of joy, tears of pride, tears of relief, even.

"Of course, John, I could never dream of saying no to something like this. I could never say no to ANY of my boys, but since Sherlock and Greg are already married, you're the only one left I COULD do this for, I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world." She reached for a tissue as she laughed with a thick voice.

Later that day, Alex approached Greg.

"John has asked Mrs. Hudson, and she's said yes. I'd be honoured if you would do the same for me, Greg? My parents have both passed and as you have officially been declared our patriarch here, I can't think of anyone I'd rather ask, not anyone at all."

Greg cleared his throat and smiled as he thought about everything that had transpired over the years, the countless myriad of small events that had resulted in big ones.

This was a another big one.

And one he wouldn't miss for the world, or decline Alex's request for any reason whatsoever. To do so would be unthinkable, and probably also unforgivable.

"It would be an honour, Alexandra," he finally said softly, reaching his arms out. "I'll be there with bells on," as Alex stepped forward into his embrace and accepted his bear hug.

Earlier in the week, John had already talked to Sherlock, and the most obvious of choices for the honoured role would once again fall to his best friend.

Molly cautioned Greg against uttering those words he'd uttered so many years ago in the mortuary, the first time Sherlock had been called upon to stand up for John as his best man.

 _"Well... what's the worst that could happen?"_

Had "Helen Louise" not been reduced to her cerebral basics, even she, from her stainless steel bowl held in Molly's hands, might have cautioned Greg against tempting the fates in such a way.

Later on, at the reception, as Sherlock was rambling in what would go down in the annals of history as quite possibly the oddest and certainly the most eventful best man's speech in this history of best man speeches, Molly would scootch closer and closer to Greg, distancing herself at least out of arm's reach (and any other sharp utensil that may come to hand) from her then-fiance, Tom.

"When you asked me what's the worst that could happen, did you actually MEAN it to be a challenge, Greg?" she whispered into his ear.

Greg had sighed and winced before looking at her sheepishly. "I'm not clever enough to influence fate like that. Just ask Sherlock, he'll tell you. Once he's finished this… WHAT the HELL is this he's doing anyway?"

Five minutes later, Sherlock was sending "Geoff" to the loo and requesting that he "lock this place down".

And so, years after Molly had questioned Greg's statement about the worst, and a month after the main players had been arranged, John Watson stood at the back of the church, with Mrs. Hudson on his arm, as their beloved landlady and Baker Street family matriarch prepared herself to walk John down the aisle to give him away.

Greg, likewise, stood outside, out of eyeshot of John and gazing proudly at Alex, decked out in her bridal attire. "By the time Greer is old enough to marry, I should be well practiced in giving the bride away," he said, chuckling. Sally, standing by with Sherlock, laughed at this.

"Just don't think giving the bride away means getting rid of her, Greg," Sally said, giggling. "Didn't work with ME, now did it?"

Sherlock, now much more at ease with weddings and his now traditional role as best man, gazed at Sally and bent down to kiss her. "You are stunning, my beautiful Old Plod," he whispered.

"Right, then," she said, finally breaking their gaze, "I believe John is waiting for us. Shall we, my gorgeous Git?"

Later on, as had also become something of a tradition, Greg and Sherlock, with duet vocals from Sally and Greg, serenaded John and Alex as they danced their first dance.

Considering how long it had taken John to get to this point – enduring endless hits and misses, personal trauma and devastating loss, the three hadn't needed much contemplation to decide on the piece they would play.

And so, John and Alexandra Watson moved over the dance floor to the notes and words of "A Thousand Years," as their Baker Street family looked on.

 _"_ _And all along I believed I would find you, time has brought your heart to me*…",_ Sally's voice rang out with Greg's unobtrusive vocal accompaniment.

Everyone there would be in agreement that indeed, John had finally found her.

* * *

 **Author's Note: *from "A Thousand Years Part 2" written by Christina Perri. No copyright violation intended.**


	58. Greer's Plan

_**Greer's Plan**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, John and Alex, Sherlock and Sally, all background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greer, Greg, Sherlock, John_

* * *

Greer Sherla Lestrade may only have been a tender five years old, but even she knew how to plan a surprise.

Having wrapped not only her daddy around her little finger, but every other adult at 221 Baker Street around her little fingers as well, Greer knew that any ideas she might have would be, at least, heard out.

She didn't know anything about cooking, or baking, or music, but her limited experience with those things taught her all she really _needed_ to know.

Greer knew that her daddy cooked and when he did, she loved what he made for her and Mummy and her brothers. Mummy was also a wonderful cook, but there was something about the way Daddy made her favourites that just made everything taste a bit better.

Greer also knew Uncle John upstairs didn't cook, but he baked. Greer loved his biscuits, and he'd even made her a cake for her fifth birthday. It was carrot cake, her very favourite, with cream cheese frosting. Mummy loved it too and had even convinced herself that because it had carrots in it, it was healthier than say, chocolate cake, or gingerbread cake.

Daddy didn't agree, necessarily. Then again, Daddy was in agreement with Uncle Sherl that actually, gingerbread was best, and ginger was good for you too. Auntie Sally seemed to prefer gingerbread as well, though she was hard done by to find herself a share of it between her boss and her husband, if she didn't catch it coming right out of John's oven.

Greer knew that Uncle Sherl didn't cook OR bake, but he sure played pretty music on his violin. She knew that sometimes he played things that others had written. But sometimes, Uncle Sherlock played songs he had made up himself.

She especially loved it when Uncle Sherl played with Daddy and Uncle John, but for this time, she wanted only Uncle Sherl. She had OTHER plans for Daddy and Uncle John.

Greer had an idea or three, so she decided that now was the time to make it all happen.

* * *

"Uncle Sherl," Greer said, in her sweet little voice. "Could you make a pretty song for Daddy?"

Sherlock gazed down at his "niece", and smiled. "A pretty song? Why ever for, my Sherla Girl?"

"Well," Greer said, crawling into his lap and taking on a very, very serious tone, "Daddy's birthday is coming. Birthdays are supposed to be a special day every year, aren't they? Like Christmas, or MY birthday?"

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, in fact. You are a very, very clever girl my Sherla. Your father's birthday is indeed coming up, although I believe it's still a month or two away yet."

"So then… would you make a pretty song for him? For a gift?"

Sherlock tightened his arms around the five year old girl, "I'll see what I can come up with," he promised solemnly. Greer giggled with delight and satisfaction as Uncle Sherl pressed a kiss to her dark hair.

* * *

Greer stood quietly in the doorway of 221A.

"Uncle John?" she finally said, trying to suppress a giggle of excitement.

"Greer!" Uncle John declared, taking the few strides to the doorway and sweeping her up into a bear hug.

"What can I do for you little lass?" John sighed and smiled as Greer snuzzled her face into his neck and wrapped her arms around him.

"Would you make a cake?"

John furrowed his brows briefly as he smiled in curiosity. "Whatever for, Lass?"

"Uncle Sherl," Greer said sweetly. "Birthday surprises are so NICE, don't you think?"

"Well, yes," Uncle John agreed, "but it isn't Uncle Sherlock's birthday, is it?"

"Nooooo…" Greer conceded, bringing her hand around to bashfully play with her long braid. "But it wouldn't be a SURPRISE if it were on his REAL birthday, would it?"

John blinked. She had a point, this clever little daughter of Molly and Greg's. Sherlock generally avoided any acknowledgement of his birthday and tried to ignore the entire day if he could possibly get away with it. So to spring a surprise on him to celebrate it when the calendar was nowhere near it did actually seem like… well, not a bad idea.

"Well then, I suppose I could manage a cake. What did you have in mind, little lass?"

Greer didn't hesitate for a moment.

"Gingerbread!" she said happily, as she settled her head back down onto his shoulder.

* * *

"Daddy, could you make something very special for dinner someday soon?"

Greg didn't need to be asked twice.

He had found himself embracing the satisfaction of cooking for his family, in fact, for everyone at 221.

Indeed, he had found to his surprise that by common consent, he wasn't half bad at it, either.

"What did you have in mind, Little Love?" he asked, lifting her up with a mild token protest of how big she was getting.

"Roast chicken dinner, Daddy," she said dreamily, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "You make the best roast chicken, and the best stuffing too!"

"Well then," he said, shifting her around to his chest so he could look her in the eyes. "I suppose I could manage that. So when were you thinking of this?"

"Hmmmm," Greer said thoughtfully, as she considered what Uncle Sherl had told her about when he'd have his special song finished, "I was thinking… just in time for Uncle John's birthday!"

Greg nodded slowly, thoroughly confused as to where his small daughter was going with this.

"Sweetie, you know Uncle John's birthday isn't for another three months, yeah?"

"Well, yes, daddy, but by then it wouldn't be a SURPRISE, would it?"

"No, I suppose it wouldn't," Greg admitted. "How about Sunday, then?"

Greer thought again about that. "Hmmmm," she said softly. "How about the Sunday after. There's no football game on the telly then, is there? But there is one THIS Sunday."

Greg laughed at this. What a clever, thoughtful girl he had. "Right, then. Sunday after this next. So what else would you like me to make besides the chicken, Little Love?"

Greer pondered a few moments. Uncle Sherl loved Daddy's roasted potatoes, while Uncle John was especially fond of the way Greg prepared the steamed vegetables.

"Just chicken dinner, Daddy," she said with finality. "The way you ALWAYS make it. With roasted potatoes and steamed vegetables."

"What, no dessert?" he asked, playfully. Greer may love his chicken dinner, but when it came down to it, she was really no different than anyone else – dessert was her favourite part of any meal.

"Nope," she said with finality. "No dessert."

Greg found himself slightly confused at this, but then again, his daughter did have a mind of her own – a trait she shared with both him and Molly. He never bothered to try to figure out what she was thinking, or why, at any given time. To attempt to do so would be akin to attempting to explain why grass was green, and not pink.

"Done deal then," he said, kissing her forehead.

* * *

When the music had been written, and the gingerbread cake had cooled and had been presented with a jar of lemon sauce, and the roast chicken had been carved, Greer Lestrade sat at her place around her family's table. Surrounding her was nearly everyone she loved – but most importantly, Uncle John and Uncle Sherl and their families.

Her parents sat on either side of her, while her brothers flanked Rosie Watson. Michael and Grace sat randomly amongst everyone else, finding themselves choosing with logic that was a mystery to everyone but themselves - much like their father's own sense of logic at times.

"So," Greg said, as he passed around the dish of potatoes. "It's not John's birthday, nor is it Sherlock's. It's not my birthday either. Far be it for me to question the wisdom of my daughter, but I think there's an explanation due," he said, as he raised his eyebrows and looked at Greer expectantly.

Greer wasn't ruffled in the least.

"I wanted you and Uncle John and Uncle Sherl to get together and give each other what you make best," Greer said. It made perfect sense to her, even if she was confusing a seasoned veteran Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard, a talented and dedicated medical doctor, and a passionately brilliant consulting detective.

"That's a very kind thought, Sherla," Sherlock said gently, "but I'm afraid you've lost us my dear girl."

Sherlock glanced at John, who merely raised an eyebrow, indicating he had no idea either. The two men trained an eye on Greg, expecting that he of all people should be able to decipher his own child's intentions. Greg was at a loss though, and simply sighed softly and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Uncle Sherl, you and Daddy and Uncle John are the very BEST of friends, and sometimes friends need to give each other a gift, so they don't forget how much they mean to each other."

Greg nodded as comprehension snapped together. John smiled to himself and looked up, glancing at his two best friends. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he suddenly understood.

"Of course," Sherlock said. "Absolutely BRILLIANT. I knew my niece took after me."

"YOUR niece," John said. "She's MY niece, thank you kindly. AND, she's smart as a whip if I do say so."

"Well she may be your niece, but it's not YOUR eyes she looks at you with, I reckon," Greg said, smugly. "I'm no forensics scientist but I'd say that means she takes after her old man."

"And yet, she is still so very clever in spite of that," Sherlock cracked. He grimaced and coughed as Molly kicked him under the table.

"WISE, I meant. She's so very wise, thanks to that. Yes, that's what I meant." Sherlock grinned as he cocked an eyebrow at Molly.

Greer watched the three men with fascinated eyes, filled with delight and adoration - and indeed a bit of cleverness, smarts, and innocent childhood wisdom.

She may have only been a tender five years old, but she still loved it when a plan came together.


	59. Toby's Encore

_**Toby's Encore**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, angst, humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Ensemble_

* * *

Greg looked at his children soberly. Their morning routine before leaving their flat for work and for school had taken on a melancholy, somber tone the past week or so, since Toby had somehow gotten out and had vanished without a trace.

"Daddy," Johnnie asked quietly, his voice tinged with the sad sort of hope that only a child could manage, "Do you think Toby might come home today?"

Greg sighed as Scott approached them, waiting his turn for his dad to help with his coat.

"I wonder what he's doing out there, if he's okay," Scott said, his voice small and worried.

"Oh Little Lads," he said, kneeling down and drawing his sons into his arms, "I don't know if Toby will come home today. I hope he does, I hope he's just out on some sort've grand adventure."

Scott gazed at his dad as his lip began to quiver. "But Daddy, you always know everything, and everything is always alright in the end. You always make SURE of it."

"Just for US," Johnnie added, his own eyes beginning to fill with tears. "And Greer is SO SAD, she misses Toby so," he added quietly, as the tears began to fall.

Greg didn't have a response for this, so instead he settled for sitting down on the bench by the door and drawing his sons close, kissing each of them in turn on their flushed and tear streaked little six year old cheeks.

The day proceeded as normally as any other day after that. Greg, Sally, and Kieran attended a scene, Sherlock and John being called in for a second opinion, which only served to confirm what Sally and Kieran had already theorized, and as usual, brought to light a few finer details that had been missed initially.

"Any sign of Toby yet?" Kieran asked quietly. "Even Julian is asking about him. He said that Rosie hasn't been herself this past week since he went missing. Usually he can cheer her up no matter what's wrong, but not this time. He's at a loss what to do to help her. My boy really hates it when he can't help her."

"The whole of 221 is inconsolable, truth be told," Greg replied, sighing. "That bloody cat has broken my childrens' hearts. And Molly's too."

"And YOURS, Sir," Kieran said quietly. "Oh, don't look so surprised," he smiled sadly at his boss, as Greg gave him a mildly perplexed expression. "I'm learning from the best how to read a person like a book. You may be able to fool your kids, but you can't fool me, Sir. Not anymore, and you've only yourself to thank for that." He reached out and gave his boss and off-duty friend a brief comforting squeeze to his shoulder.

Greg didn't deny it, indeed, he couldn't. When he and Molly had gotten together, Toby had been part of the deal. He liked cats, so he didn't mind in the least, and when they had married and started their family, Johnnie, Scott, and Greer had never known life without Toby. That fact alone had him missing the old ginger tomcat, but the simple truth was, he had grown rather attached to him, even before Molly had moved in with him years ago.

"Everyone's hearts, really," John said, as he approached from his spot with Sherlock a few feet away. "Anyway, Sherlock has finished his initial observations. I have a few of my own too, whenever you're ready."

Greg nodded. "Right, then. Let's get on with it, shall we? I rather think I'd like to wrap this up so I can go home. What've you got for us then, John?"

* * *

Back at his office, Greg sat back with the file, expecting to be able to start his reports soon enough. His focus on the task at hand had just taken hold when his phone toned.

 _We've found him. Not good. ~SH_

 _Oh no. Are you sure it's him? ~GL_

 _Afraid so. Looks like a fox got him. ~SH_

 _You're positive it's Toby? ~GL_

 _Ginger tabby with a green collar and one white toe on his front foot. Not much else left of him. ~SH_

 _SHIT. Don't tell any of the kids yet. ~GL_

 _Understood. We'll wait for you to return from shift. ~SH_

 _Thank you Sherlock. I shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. ~GL_

 _You're welcome Greg. ~SH_

Sally, standing in the doorway of Greg's office, watched her boss as he texted, and she knew by the look on his face that the mobile exchange had been with Sherlock. Her hand came up to wipe away tears as she thought of Michael and Grace, and wondered if Sherlock had told them yet, as he had texted her before Greg to give her a heads up. Later, she would find that he had respected Greg's wishes, that they may all gather their little ones together to break the news at the same time.

Greg looked up, a sad relief in his dark brown eyes. Sally approached his desk and shrugged. "At least we know now," she said quietly. "I had hoped our kids wouldn't have to learn about death for a few more years, though. I'm going to miss that furry little sod."

Greg studied her a moment, then reached into his desk to pull out a packet of tissues. "Yeah," he said, snatching one out of the box for himself as he handed it to her.

* * *

"Daddy, can we have a funeral for Toby?" Greer asked as she cuddled close Greg on the couch. The young girl had planted herself squarely on her father's lap, happily sharing him with her brothers, who curled up on either side of him, as closely as they could manage. Greg's arms enveloped his boys, who had managed to wrap themselves around the sides of his chest and make themselves compact enough for Greg to actually embrace all three of them, while the twin boys each draped a protective free arm over their sister.

"I think that'd be a good idea," Greg replied, as his thumbs absently stroked the boys' arms. "A proper goodbye."

"Yes," Molly said, as she came into the room. "I think we should have a proper goodbye for him. You know children," she said, as she took a place on the couch next to Johnnie, curling herself around him, "I got Toby long before your daddy and I ever got together. He's been my cat for a very long time."

"Are you as sad as we are, Mummy?" Johnnie asked as he flipped himself over and rolled into Molly's embrace, his voice beginning to quiver slightly.

Molly regarded her oldest twin and nodded quietly. "Yes, son. I'm very, very sad," she sighed.

"I think he definitely needs a proper goodbye then Mummy," Scott said solemnly.

* * *

The next day, the residents at 221 Baker Street held their little funeral for Toby, and buried him with solemn, tearful reverence. The old feline friend had had a "closed casket", in the form of a special box made up by the children, and he had been carefully concealed from them on Sherlock's recommendation.

Scott, who decided he wished to be next to Uncle Sherlock, reached up to take his hand. If Sherlock had any notions that a funeral for a cat was a ridiculous waste of time and sentiment, he wisely kept the thoughts to himself.

"Uncle Sherlock," Scott asked quietly. "Did you look VERY carefully at Toby when you… I mean… before you put him in…" Scott trailed off, feeling tears begin to threaten again.

"Enough to know that it was your Toby, yes. Why, Scott?" Sherlock replied quietly, as he crouched down to his nephew's level.

"Well it's just that Toby has… I mean he HAD… special markings. Did you ever notice he had a black whisker? Daddy says it was hidden in plain sight and if you knew it was there you could see it, plain as day. And he had a freckle in his eye, just like you do, Uncle." Sherlock listened as the young boy coughed lightly and sniffed. "And his tail had a little kink in it. Mummy says he got it caught in a cupboard door when he was a very small kitten."

Sherlock paused at this, thinking. He honestly hadn't studied the poor ravaged lifeless creature that closely or carefully. He may not have been much for cats, but he had no desire to see one in that state. He knew enough of Toby to make a passing judgement that day, though admittedly his collar, which, given the close proximity of a pet supply shop, might point towards mere circumstantial evidence towards a proper identification.

Sherlock squeezed the small hand that held his, wishing for all the world that the damnable creature were there right now, weaving about his ankles, depositing yellow and white cat hair on his trousers, and being the general pain in the arse nuisance of himself that Toby seemed to delight in being.

And so, when Toby Hooper had been put to rest, with a small grave marker made by seven bereaved children – for Julian had joined them to offer a brand of comfort only he could provide to his bereaved Rosa – life at that humble address seemed to carry on as normally as one might expect.

The children adjusted to Toby's loss, had gotten used to him no longer being there, and had accepted that he had died. Their parents pained at the fact that their first experience with death and loss had finally come, but at the same time, were somewhat relieved to have it over with.

Molly took comfort in Morrie's presence, accepting the extra attentions that the silken black cat offered. Morrie, as a rule, was already somewhat shameless in his expressions of affection. Truthfully, the ebony feline seemed to favour Greg somewhat, but with Toby gone, Morrie somehow sensed that there was someone missing, and wasted no time taking advantage of his exclusive access to Molly.

Indeed, life had returned to a new normal at 221 Baker Street, until one Sunday afternoon, two weeks later.

Greg sat quietly busy at the dining table, reviewing a file before a routine court appearance scheduled for the next day, while Molly sat on the couch with their boys, reading a book. Greer, knowing how important it was for Daddy to be left alone this afternoon, occupied herself with a jigsaw puzzle on the floor.

So focused on their own activities were they, that nobody noticed at first, as a small, unobtrusive being made their way through the door, left, as always, ajar for Maisie and Morrie.

The aloof creature sauntered in, casual as a Sunday afternoon stroll in the park, and made his way over to his food dish.

He sniffed it before deciding he was, in fact, hungry enough to bother, and sitting on his haunches, proceeded to take his meal. When he had finished, he sniffed again at the water dish, and decided to refresh himself.

That preliminary ritual completed, he sat on the floor next to Greg, still fully engrossed in the files before him, and began to wash his face. Still, nobody noticed a paw sporting a single pristine white toe amongst its ginger furred neighbours, brushing over a face that wore a single black whisker amongst its white companions.

Greer, the first to catch the newcomer in her peripheral vision, blinked several times before abandoning her puzzle.

She rose from the floor and made her way softly into the kitchen where Daddy sat, still unaware of the creature in their midst, grooming himself as though he owned the place.

"Daddy," she whispered, as she tugged at Greg's arm, barely able to take her eyes off of the ginger tabby sitting in the kitchen.

"Hmmm?" Greg said, absently. "What is it Greer?"

"Toby's home," she said casually.

"That's good, Little Love," Greg said, still not quite paying attention.

Suddenly, his head snapped up. "What did you say, Greer?"

"Toby's home, Daddy," she said, walking back into the living room to fetch Mummy and her brothers. Greg's eyebrows flew up his forehead as he looked down, scowling briefly at the aloof creature before his face lit up with a delighted grin.

"What the… you furry little bastard," he muttered, as he reached down and scooped up his old buddy.

"YOU," he whispered, as Toby snuggled down and started to purr, "are a world class deluxe edition all inclusive asshole. Where the BLOODY HELL have you been?"

He looked up as Molly stepped into the kitchen, Johnnie and Scott on either side of her. Molly shrieked in delight as her hands flew to her mouth. Toby still in Greg's arms, looked around at her as she dashed towards him, scooping him into her arms with a mighty squeeze.

Greg opened his arms as his sons flew towards him.

"You were RIGHT, Daddy!" Johnnie declared happily, wrapping his arms around Greg's waist and holding tight. "He really WAS just out on a grand adventure!"

Greg regarded his small twin dopplegangers, gazing up at him with adoring brown eyes, and found his breath catching as he realized that he had just witnessed a monumental renewal of innocent childhood faith.

Toby sat perched on Molly's arm, one front foot on her shoulder. He glanced around curiously, at the suddenly excited family.

"What?" the old tomcat's expression seemed to say. "You've never seen a cat before?"

* * *

When word quickly spread around 221 Baker Street, Sherlock had only one question.

 _If that wasn't Toby, whose the bloody hell cat did we bury? ~SH_

 _Buggered if I know. ~GL_

 _That creature is officially a bigger asshole than even I could aspire to be. I bow to his skill at gracefully returning from the dead.~SH_

 _What about his skill at being an asshole? ~GL_

 _Indeed, that too. ~SH_

Two days later, Toby the prodigal cat had settled back in as if he'd never been gone in the first place. By then, he had made his rounds to make sure everyone still knew where his food dish was supposed to be set in each of the three flats, and had long since greeted Maisie by bumping noses and rubbing up against her side, marking her as his own once again. When Morrie had returned later that first day back, he and Toby shared a good old fashioned wrestle.

"You, sir, are a git for leaving ALL of the mousing duties to me," Morrie seemed to say with his dark, green eyed expression, right before launching himself at his fellow feline. Before the quarter hour was passed, they had settled into their favourite spot in the landing of the house, sharing their usual sunbeam and sleeping like only a cat can.

Towards the end of the week, Rosie shared an idea brought forth to her by Julian.

Julian, for his part, was just happy that Rosie was happy again. If there was one thing Julian Bailey hated, it was seeing his Rosa inconsolably sad, knowing there was nothing he could do to fix it, or even cheer her up a little.

As the Lestrades, Holmeses, and Watsons gathered with Mrs. Hudson and the Baileys, the former burial site of Toby Hooper had its small grave marker replaced.

No longer did it mark the final resting place of their beloved feline companion Toby.

Now, it solemnly and respectfully marked the spot of "The Tomb of the Unknown Mouser."


	60. Dance Her Outside

_**Dance Her Outside**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, John and Alex, Sherlock and Sally, Phillip and Jackie_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg and Molly_

* * *

Greg Lestrade, having performed his musical "first dance" duties with Sherlock and Sally, had managed to set his guitar aside and join in on the festivities.

"You were gorgeous, my amazing silver fox," Molly purred, as Greg led her around the dance floor. "I really do wish you realized what a beautiful voice you have," she said.

"To each their own," he chuckled. "Sally was the star. I just tried to keep up." He gave her a small self-deprecating smile.

Molly shook her head, knowing that convincing her husband of his own talents was a lost cause. Even so, she couldn't help herself.

"It was a duet, darling. YOU had your solo bits as well. Anyway have you never listened to the recordings Sherlock has made of you?"

"Nope," Greg said, inching his face closer to hers. "Can't say I've noticed if he's played them."

"Greer gazes at you like you're Danny O'Donoghue or something," Molly protested, even as Greg's mouth made its way to that spot the he knew would derail her train of thought.

"Wait... Danny O'WHO?"

Molly sighed. "He's the lead singer of The Script, they're an Irish..." she trailed off, as Greg cut off her explanation skillfully and thoroughly.

"Greer is my daddy's girl," he said between soft, delicately lingering kisses. "I could sound like an asthmatic hyena and she'd still love me," he breathed against her skin as her grip on his hand and shoulder tightened.

"Gregory, you do NOT sound like… ahhhhhhhh… damnit Lestrade… I call no fair."

"All's fair in love, war, and changing the subject, Love" he said, as he made his way to her mouth, then pulled back from his victory kiss with a satisfied grin.

Check.

Mate.

Molly sighed, defeated for the time being. Some battles were worth compromising on, she thought, before going along with Greg's intentions and changing the subject.

"Do you think he's deduced it yet?"

Greg grinned and all but snorted a laugh. "Of course he has. He's just developed more tact since the last time John got married. It's obvious even to me, so there's no way in hell Sherlock might have missed it. No way at all."

"I suppose not," Molly laughed softly. "She's showing all the signs, what Sherlock calls the signs of three." She gazed over at John and Alex, lost in their own world amongst their dearest friends. "The difference is, look at Sherlock this time."

Greg glanced over, watching thoughtfully. "He doesn't look lost, like he wants to bolt from the room. He's as content as the rest of us are now so there's no reason for him to, anyway look at Sally. I think she's got plans for him later on." Greg paused, nodding his head towards John and Alex as Molly glanced to where he was pointing. "But look, he's already told John what he's deduced. Those two gits both look like the cat that's stolen the canary."

"Yes," Molly observed, as she noticed vaguely that Greg was slowly dancing her towards the nearest exit, "John may just have that boy yet, and Sherlock can't help himself when he's making his deductions."

"I can't help myself either," Greg's voice rumbled softly, as he nuzzled Molly behind her ear and pulled her close to him. Molly's breath caught and she was grateful for her husband's firm grip as he gracefully danced her outside, never once allowing her to lose her footing.

"You realize Greer is expecting to dance with her daddy later on, yeah?" Molly murmured.

"She's busy with Anderson for the time being," Greg pointed out. "Jackie can't get a dance in edgewise, not that she seems to mind," he laughed heartily. "Anyway we've still got a few minutes to ourselves before Ciana realizes I've left the room," he chuckled. "At least SHE doesn't make me sing to put her to sleep," he winked. "I just pretend I've got her in a briefing meeting and she nods right off pretty as you please."

"Cheap date, she is then," Molly giggled. "She's got no idea what she's missing out on."

"Maybe not but who am I to argue?" he laughed, as he stood back and gave Molly an impish grin. "Girls like what they like and we boys better deal with it. Anyway I believe OUR boys have their mother in queue as well so we really can't be out here long."

"Mmmmm, I can't wait," Molly said, with a warm smile, full of anticipation. "Did you know Sherlock has been teaching them how to dance properly? And Greer as well. Our children have already forgotten more about ballroom dancing than we ever knew between the two of us, I'm sure."

"Well, Ciana Jane won't be so discerning, in the meantime I suppose I'll just have to try my best to keep up to our daughter. And, Molly, love?"

"Mmmm yeah?" Molly murmured against his chest before bringing her head back to look up at him.

"Why the hell are we wasting this time TALKING?" Greg said, as he zeroed in on Molly for a well thought out and rather thorough kiss.

"No idea," she managed to whisper, as she tilted her head up to greet him. "No idea at all."


	61. Birthday Interlude

**Author's Note: This is just a random wee gift of pure fluff for MissD721, Happy Birthday my friend! Rest assured the bunnies that are hopping will be making their way to a story near you soon ;)**

 **Birthday Interlude**

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Phillip and Jackie_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Greer, Phillip, Ciana_

* * *

Ciana Jane Anderson couldn't have been more content.

She had spent the day with her daddy, being appropriately spoiled, and then at the end of Greg's shift, had been passed off to him, who as usual, had managed to soothe her tired cranky mood just by talking to her.

Greer couldn't have been happier either. SHE got to spend the day with her own daddy, and when Uncle Phillip had come by to drop off her little friend Ciana, she had been rewarded by being picked up and cuddled.

"Oh my word Lady Greer," Phillip declared as he picked her up. "You're not missing any meals Milady, are you. What a pretty little thing you are too," he said softly, as she wrapped her arms around his neck happily. "Have you been a good girl for your old dad today?

"Silly Uncle," Greer said lazily, "I'm always a good girl!"

Phillip glanced at Greg, grinning to see Ciana settling against his boss's chest, having her inner pissed off beast soothed by his quiet baritone.

What was that he was doing? Was he seriously reciting test results from his own lab from earlier in the day?

Phillip shook his head, wondering not only at the whims of girls, but at the apparent dull nature of his own life's work, and tightened his grip on the young lady in his arms. Greer was beginning to nod off, he noted, so he opted to sit on the couch in Greg's office. She wasn't getting any lighter by the minute.

"Funny how a girl has her preferences," he said softly, adjusting Greer's arms. "Greer likes a little song, Ciana prefers it if you just speak to her."

Greg said nothing, only nodding in acknowledgement. When Ciana was slumbering to his satisfaction, he finally spoke out loud.

"So, what are the plans for Ciana's birthday on Friday? Hard to believe she's a year old already, seems just yesterday I was making myself scarce in fear of Jackie going into labour," Greg laughed softly.

Phillip smiled, gently adjusting Greer, who had gone completely limp, but no lighter in his arms. "Just a small gathering of friends, I think. Jackie's only decided this morning. I actually did want to speak to you about that, we were hoping you'd make plans to be there, if the notice isn't too short. John's already agreed to make a cake, apparently."

"Wouldn't miss it for anything," Greg said, picking up the slouching blanket that had slipped away from Ciana and draping it over the sleeping girl. "Actually I believe I'm on shift early that day so I should be clocking out early as well barring disaster. Molly's taken the day off to attend a school function for the boys."

"Excellent," Phillip said, nudging Greer into more of a recline against his torso. He swung his legs around to recline himself, relaxing against the back of the sofa. "Long day in the lab," he explained sheepishly, as he kicked his shoes off. "I really needed this. A little cuddle from Lady Greer goes a long way, but I suppose you already know that."

Greg nodded as he moved his hand up to rest on Ciana's back. "My kids are the best part of my day, no doubt you've found that with Ciana as well." He paused a moment as Ciana seemed to stir, then fell back into slumber.

"Wouldn't trade it for anything," Phillip simply said, as he laid his head back on the cushion and closed his eyes.

"Yeah," Greg agreed, sitting back himself and swinging his legs up onto his desk.

"Wouldn't trade this for all the world."


	62. Dibs

_**Author's note: It would seem the bunnies are hopping into a mini-series of chapters of sorts centering on John and Alex's wedding dance. Not sure how many there will be but I'm sure I'll find out soon enough**_

 _ **Dibs**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _John and Alex, Sherlock and Sally, REALLY REALLY pre-Rosie and Julian_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Rosie and Julian_

* * *

"I can't believe you convinced them to play another one," Julian Bailey said, as he nervously held Rosie's hand. "And you got Mr. John in on it too. At his own wedding!"

Rosie grinned her silliest satisfied grin and glanced over towards The Baker Street Trio… featuring Auntie Sally.

For Rosie, it just didn't get any better than that.

"It isn't REALLY cold outside*, is it?" Julian asked, as he led Rosie around. "Mr. John and Mrs. Sally seem sure it is."

"I don't know Jules, but they sure sound nice," Rosie said, as she gripped his shoulder and followed his lead.

Rosie loved how Uncle Sherlock played his violin and Uncle Greg his guitar. She loved it when Uncle Greg sang too, though he didn't do it often enough for her liking. Her Daddy, however, sang the most and when Auntie Sally sang too, it made her feel warm and gooey inside. Her dad had been singing to her for as long as she remembered, and it felt like home to her when she heard his voice. She also loved Auntie Sally's voice, and she hoped that one day she could sing like that too.

"Do you think… well… Rosa, will you marry me?"

Rosie giggled. "Of COURSE I will, but we're only eight," she pointed out, blue eyes shining. "We've plenty of time. You'll always have dibs, Jules," she said, as Julian smiled in relief, as was his custom. "One day we'll dance like this and it will be OUR wedding, no worries," she said, winking.

"Being grown up seems so far away, doesn't it?" Julian sighed. "We've SO long to wait yet."

"Well yes, but being a kid is still SO much fun, isn't it? We get to dance like this, we can play together, and go to school together too. And we've nothing to worry about. We should enjoy being this young, Jules," Rosie said lightly. "We've so much to learn yet. I can't wait to learn it all with you." She moved her arms suddenly, wrapping them around him and giving him a solid hug.

"I suppose," he finally said, blushing happily as Rosie pulled back and resumed their prior dancing stance. "Daddy says Mummy is right a lot and I should get used to it. Maybe he means I should get used to YOU being right a lot too," he said, giggling.

Rosie smiled at him as she stopped their dance. "My daddy says that he and Mummy Alex are equally right. Maybe you DO need to get used to me being right" she said teasingly, "but you'll be right too sometimes."

"Well maybe," he conceded, "but I think this time you're definitely right."

"Maybe," Rosie said with a soft giggle, as she started to move again to the music. "I wonder if my new brother or sister will think so?"

"Really?" Julian asked excitedly, as he twirled Rosie around. "A baby brother or sister? Oh they're SUCH fun! Gareth is so little but I love being a big brother all the same!"

"They don't know I know yet, but Uncle Sherlock said so. He called it the signs of three, and he said the first time he saw them, it was ME on the way, with Mummy Mary and Daddy when they got married," she said softly.

Julian sensed a bit of sadness in Rosie, something that even she couldn't quite explain, so he led them around in silence for a few moments, holding her hand a little more tightly, a little more comforting, something that wasn't lost on the young girl.

"I guess we'll have to wait to see then," Julian finally said, as he danced Rosie towards the table with the snacks.

"How did you know I was getting hungry?" Rosie suddenly asked, as she realized where they were heading.

"Sometimes a bloke just knows what his best friend needs," he said, shrugging with a small smile. "This time I'm the one who's right, I guess," he remarked casually, as he broke his embrace to collect plates. As he handed one to her, he bowed like a little gentleman, saying, "Ladies first, my Rosa."

* * *

 ***"Baby It's Cold Outside"** written by Dean Martin, pick your favourite version here ;)


	63. Surrounded By Soulmates

_**Author's Note: This is a continuation of the John and Alex Wedding Dance series of chapters. The bunnies are running rampant...**_

* * *

 _ **Surrounded By Soulmates**_

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship, Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Ensemble pairings_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sherlock and Sally_

* * *

"Do you ever get the feeling that boy is going to move heaven and earth to give our Rosie her perfect fairy tale wedding someday?" Sally asked Sherlock, as they glided around the dance floor. She broke her gaze towards Rosie and Julian dancing across the room, moving her eyes up to look at her husband expectantly.

"Oh, it's more than a feeling, darling," Sherlock responded, smiling. "Greg calls them old souls and I do believe he's correct. If, of course, one were inclined to believe that souls are a real… _thing_."

"Bollocks, Git. You believe souls _are_ a real thing now. I know you William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I know you inside and out, and I know your heart. You even believe that you and I are soulmates." Sally tightened her grip on Sherlock as they moved gracefully to the music as she smiled up at him.

"Well, maybe… a little bit," he conceded, grinning down at her. Sally's heart skipped a beat as his dimples appeared and his eyes crinkled, making them sparkle gold flecks.

"Does it ever make you think, watching them?" Sally asked wisfully. "I mean, about Michael and Grace. One day they'll be old enough to find their own best friends, like Rosie and Julian over there."

"Or maybe like Molly and Greg, it certainly took them quite some time, but they got there. Or maybe like John and Alex," Sherlock said thoughtfully, "stops and starts and losses, and new beginnings. Or us." He paused then grimaced. "God, I hope not like us."

Sally gave him a sardonic grin. "Yeah. Us. Couldn't see what was right in front of us for a solid year," she said with a small laugh. "Gave everyone at 221 the screaming fits, we did."

"Let's hope like Rosie and Julian then, shall we?" Sherlock responded, raising his hand up to tweak her chin, raising it up to lean down for a kiss. Sally sighed as she returned it with enthusiasm, before breaking it and looking up at him, dark eyes shining.

"You know it's funny, we all thought for sure that the Holmes and Watsons would be joined one day by marriage. Maybe not," Sally said, just before Sherlock swept her into a dip.

As he raised her up, laughing softly, he said, "Well, the balance of probability suggests that John and Alex will have a boy."

"Bollocks," Sally stated with finality. "There you go again, Git, pissing in my ear and telling me it's raining. Not even YOU can deduce with that sort of specificity."

"Well, maybe not," he admitted with a shrug. "But it would be nice for John to have a son, don't you think?" He gazed down at her and smiled his mischievous smile. "We are surrounded by soulmates my beautiful Old Plod, isn't it SO very fortunate that we JUST happen have two children, one a boy, one a girl… Does not the balance of probability in all seriousness suggest that our family and John's will yet be united someday after all?"


	64. Remembering How to Waltz

_**Author's Note: This is a continuation of the John and Alex Wedding Dance series of chapters. The bunnies are still running rampant...**_

* * *

 **Remembering How to Waltz**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Phillip and Jackie, Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Phillip, Jackie, Greer, Ciana, Johnnie, Scott_

* * *

Phillip and Jackie Anderson were getting tired.

The day had been full enough, and that was fine. Child minding was voluntary, and besides, they had Greg and Molly to help with the task. Ciana and Greer would have no less of him and Greg. It was fortunate for the two of them that Greer Lestrade had found herself drawn to little Ciana. Jackie and Molly, for their part, recognized the earmarks of lifelong best friends and soul sisters in the making.

Phillip _might_ grudgingly forgive Greg for caving to pressure and picking up his guitar for another 10 or 15 or 45 minutes, though this left him with his favourite little girl, second only to his own adored daughter.

Still, that particular little girl wasn't getting any smaller, or any lighter. Nor was she, apparently, getting any less fond of her Uncle Phillip.

Neither, however, was Ciana getting any lighter, and for as much as Phillip Anderson wisely wanted to keep both girls happy, even a man who had endured the things that Sherlock Holmes had put him through, for two years, no less, had his limits.

Phillip was always grateful for Jackie, but never more so, at this moment, than for her extra set of willing hands… and willing arms… and feet.

He looked at Greer Lestrade square in the eye from level.

"Lady Greer, you are perfectly capable of dancing on your own two feet, aren't you?"

Greer gazed at him impishly.

"Maybe," she said, from her spot in his arms.

"Perhaps Milady would like to show Uncle Phillip and Auntie Jackie how to… what is this called?"

Greer smiled bashfully. "Don't be silly, Uncle," she chastised.

"Well still, Uncle forgets…" he encouraged her.

"It's a WALTZ, hasn't Uncle Sherlock taught you anything? It's EVER so easy."

Jackie locked eyes with her husband and shifted Ciana as she grinned knowingly.

"Well," Jackie hinted softly, "Uncle Sherlock taught me, but perhaps Uncle needs to be reminded."

Greer wiggled impatiently. "REALLY, Uncle Phillip. It's NOT that hard!"

Barely able to contain a sigh of relief, as his arms had just started to go numb from fatigue, Phillip dropped Greer to the floor, gently and on her feet. "Show me then Milady," he said with a laugh.

"Well, you go like this," she said, raising her hands up and stretching his arm to her waist – which, given how tall he was and how little she still stood, in spite of appearing to take after her father and being just a bit taller than the average five year old girl - was a bit of a stretch. "THEN you go like THIS," she said, grasping his free hand. "THEN your feet just go like THIS," she concluded confidently, pulling him into a waltz.

He glanced partly with relief, partly with apology, and partly with amusement, at Jackie, as he allowed Greer to dance him around the floor.

Jackie watched them with a warm smile and a soft laugh, as Johnnie and Scott, seeing her now without a dance partner, sidled up to her to take over where Uncle Phillip had left off.

She may have had her dance with her husband interrupted, but for her part, didn't mind in the least.

"Do you remember how to waltz, Auntie Jackie?" Scott asked her curiously. Jackie turned her attention to the handsome, dark eyed twins.

"I think so… but perhaps you might remind me?"

The boys looked at eachother, grinning. "May we have this dance then, Auntie?" Johnnie asked, as he and his brother bowed in unison.

"It would be an honour," she said, as she allowed them to lead her and Ciana to the dance floor.


	65. Mrs Hudson's Boys

**_Author's Note: This is a continuation of the John and Alex Wedding Dance series of chapters. The bunnies are running nearing the end of their rampage... one chapter left!_**

* * *

 **Mrs. Hudson's Boys**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship, Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, John and Alex_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Mrs. Hudson, Greg, Sherlock, John_

* * *

Mrs. Hudson took a deep breath, letting out happily. Greg, guiding her around the dance floor with surprising grace, laughed softly.

"You look like the cat that's stolen the canary, Mrs. H," he grinned. "What's got you so happy besides this obviously joyous occasion?"

"Oh, I suppose it's just… seeing my three boys all so happy. And now I've finally gotten a dance in edgewise with one of them!"

Greg nodded his head sheepishly. Between musical duties with Sherlock, Sally, and occasionally John, interspersed with dances with Greer, Ciana, and Molly, he hadn't had much chance to mingle. Mrs. Hudson, patient to a fault with her boys, had simply sat back, rising to the occasion to dance with the Lestrade twins, or Julian Bailey now and then, when John had decided to claim Rosie for a dance with his little girl.

But until now, with the exception of the mother and groom dance at the start with John, she hadn't actually had a chance to dance with a grown gentleman. She was pleased with herself that she'd finally managed to corner Greg.

"It's so wonderful to finally see everyone so happy. Sherlock and Sally, who could have imagined that, and he's finally so, I don't know… so SETTLED. And oh, Greg, you and Molly, you know you really had me worried after your divorce. Seeing you with Molly is so wonderful, you SO deserved happiness after that farce of a marriage you were in. And now to see John so happy at last as well," she remarked wistfully, as Greg carefully twirled her around. "There was a time after Mary… I didn't think I'd ever see him smile again."

"Time can be a great healer, Mrs. H," Greg said with a slight shrug. "I think Mary would have wanted this for him. She loved fiercely, but I really think she would have wanted him to just get the hell on with it. Mary Watson never did suffer fools gladly."

Mrs. Hudson tightened her grip on his shoulder and squeezed his hand a little more firmly. "I've no doubt about that whatsoever, Gregory," she said. "Our Mary was most definitely one of a kind."

"Indeed, she was," a familiar baritone said from behind. Greg looked over as Sherlock approached with Molly, dancing his way towards them. "Mary would have been happy, and relieved to see this day." He grinned at Greg and Mrs. Hudson as the four of them came to a brief stop. "Trade?" Sherlock asked, gesturing towards both Molly and Mrs. Hudson.

"Don't mind if I do," Greg said. He turned to smile at Mrs. Hudson, placing a kiss on her cheek. "I believe it's Sherlock's turn to cut a rug with you. No more complaining about your boys not dancing with you, now," he winked, as he and Sherlock traded dance partners. Mrs. Hudson smiled softly as she watched Greg and Molly move away gracefully, already losing themselves in each other's eyes.

"Well, it's about time you found your way over here, Sherlock Holmes," she scolded teasingly. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten all about your poor old landlady."

"You're not our landlady, Hudders," Sherlock said with a laugh. "You're family. Look, you even gave the groom away. That's something, if done, that a mother would do. John was thrilled that you said yes when he asked."

"He did seem rather pleased with himself," Mrs. Hudson admitted, as Sherlock gave a subtle signal that he was about to guide her into a gentle dip. When he'd carefully pulled her upright again, she laughed with delight.

"Of course he was," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "John has found renewal and healing with Alex. As we said before, Mary would be thrilled as well about all of this. She was always willing to give up the people she loved if it meant they were happy, and safe. I believe if she could have hand chosen a partner for John and a mother for Rosie, she might just have chosen Alexandra."

"I believe she might have as well," John said from behind. Mrs. Hudson peered around her tall dance partner, laughing with delight to see John with his bride.

"Mrs. Watson, would you mind if Sherlock and I were to trade ladies?" John asked Alex with a charming smile. "I believe I promised Mrs. Hudson a second dance apart from mother and groom."

Alex's eyes shone as she wordlessly consented, watching as Sherlock gave Mrs. Hudson a quick hug, and a kiss on the cheek. "I myself have been patiently waiting to dance with this beautiful bride,' Sherlock remarked lightly. Bowing farewell to Mrs. Hudson, he took Alex's hand and they departed to the other side of the floor, as John took Mrs. Hudson's hand, twirling her around, and settled into what remained of their dance.

"Oh, it's so wonderful to see you like this John," Mrs. Hudson said, her eyes beginning to mist over. "I hope this doesn't mean you might forget Mary though. Oh, she loved you so, in spite of everything that happened."

"Never, Mrs. Hudson. Mary is a part of me and always will be. I see her every time I look at Rosie. Mary is in her smile, in her frown, in nearly every way she does things. Rosie has no idea but I can see it so clearly."

Mrs. Hudson stopped to wrap her arms around John, sighing against his shoulder. "Oh, I can see it as well, John," she sighed. "Alexandra is a very lucky woman to have the two of you."

"I think we're the lucky ones, really," John said, returning the hug. "I never imagined I'd be doing this a second time when I lost Mary. The idea was unthinkable back then. Now, the idea of NOT doing this is unthinkable."

"Well, you've made an old lady very, very proud, John Hamish Watson," Mrs. Hudson said, as she pulled back to finish their dance. "And I can't wait to meet the new little one. I believe 221A is just the right size for the five of us, so no more babies, do you hear me, young man?"

John laughed heartily at this. "I hear you, yes. I can't make any promises of course, but two children is a nice round number."

"Oh, thank God, you're sure it's just ONE baby? Twins seem to be an odd phenomenon at Baker Street, I have to wonder if there's something in the air that's catching."

John chuckled softly. "Well, perhaps, but you mustn't forget that Johnnie and Scott were born well before Greg and Molly moved to Baker Street, so really it's only Sherlock and Sally's twins. No worries though Mrs. H. We've had a look and there is definitely only one in there."

"Oh?" Mrs. Hudson perked up. "I don't suppose you've found out if it's a girl or a boy you're to have?"

John grinned at this. "Yes, and we've decided to keep it on the mum. Or IN the Mum, as it were."

"Oh, you scamp," she laughed. "WHAT am I to DO with you lot?"

"You can start with less talking and more dancing," John said, as he twirled her around, watching her with contented delight.


	66. The Signs of Four

**_Author's Note: This is the concluding chapter of the John and Alex Wedding Dance series of chapters. The bunnies are finally settling down..._**

* * *

 ** _The Signs of Four_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship, Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Ensemble pairings_

 ** _Main characters:_** _John and Alex_

* * *

"Who do you think knows? I mean, besides the all-knowing, all seeing, all deducing Sherlock Holmes?" Alex asked, as she and John moved as one over the floor.

John smiled at his bride, dark blue eyes shining. "Greg, I suspect. He's not stupid, in spite of Sherlock's analysis. Greg observes in different ways. Have you noticed how attentive he is around you lately?"

Alex smiled, tightening her grip and moving a bit closer to her groom.

"A bit, maybe," she said. "Now, we weren't dating back then, but I remember how he was with Molly when they would come to the surgery when she was pregnant. A doting dad even then, he was," she laughed. "Now he's a doting Uncle, I'd say."

"Greg is certainly that," John agreed. "Sherlock as well. And of course as Greg has deduced it in his own way, Molly knows as well. And Sally no doubt. Sherlock can't keep a good juicy deduction to himself to save his bloody life, his ego won't allow it, so probably our daughter knows too."

Alex stopped moving, gazing at John. "OUR daughter?"

John gave his bride a quick smile before bringing his hand up to her face. "Yes, OUR daughter. You know… Rosie. There's a new Mum in town and tag, you're it, Love," he said, leaning in to kiss her as if to emphasize his point.

John closed his eyes and kicked himself. "Oh, no, Love, don't do that… Alexandra, oh honey I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to make you…"

"Daddy," Rosie chastised as she glided past with Julian, "stop making Mummy cry, it's ruining her makeup and we've still lots of photos to take yet." John glanced at Julian, who simply grinned in agreement with Rosie.

"You're no bloody help," he whispered to Julian with a poorly hidden grin as the young boy whisked his daughter away.

"No, no," Alex said, waving him off and wiping her eye delicately as a fresh tear fell upon Rosie's declaration. "It's just pregnancy hormones. Honest."

"Nope," Sherlock said softly, popping the "p" as was his custom, as he and Molly danced past. "Not hormones. Molly?"

Molly smiled as she turned her head on the way past.

"Uh-uh. Not hormones."

Alex frowned, feeling slighted.

"Greg," John asked, as the DI was on the other side, within earshot. Greg, holding Ciana Anderson in his arms while dancing her and Sally around, simply gave an impish grin.

"No, no I don't think so. I'm no doctor but I'd say she caught case of the feels. Sorry, I think she may be terminal."

"Yeah, the Boss is always right, you know. Even when he's not. But this time he is," Sally winked. "Definitely terminal feels."

Alex glared at Greg, even as a smile started to form. Never had she felt so ganged up on, yet so loved and accepted at the same time.

"Anderson?" John said, peering behind Alex.

Phillip Anderson danced casually with Greer on one arm, and Jackie wrapped around his other one, both adults holding on to Greer with their free hands as she happily bounced around with them.

"Sorry, Alex. Fear, common sense, and my own conclusions dictate I must be in agreement with them. Hormones simply make you more vulnerable to the feels, so the scientific fact remains that the true basis of your emotional state…" he trailed off, shrugging apologetically.

"Welcome to this crazy family, Alex," Mrs. Hudson said softly, as she glided around with Scott and John Lestrade, teaching her a thing or two about the foxtrot.

"We're a bit daft, as you've already discovered, but all the best families are a bit, you know," Mrs. Hudson said, as the Lestrade twins moved her out of earshot.

"Guess you're stuck with us now, Love. For better or for worse," John said softly.

In his arms, his blushing bride beamed with contentment.

None of these revelations were truly news to her, but now that the deed was done, now that she was officially Alexandra Watson – wife to John, step-mother to Rosie, soon to be mother to the next little Watson… and whatever you might call it to the rest of 221 Baker Street, it hit home that she was where she was meant to be.

As her composure began to fail again, John rolled his eyes and sighed, glancing sideways at Kieran Bailey, who simply grinned and shrugged with understanding, wordlessly handing him a handkerchief as he moved past with Emma in his arms and Gareth in between them.

"Oh, these damned feels," Alex said, laughing through joyful tears.


	67. What She's Made Of

**_What She's Made Of_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Angst, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Rosie and Julian, both backround_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg and adult Greer_

 ** _Minor warning:_** _Two bad words said in angsty context_

* * *

Greer stood outside the pub door, her gut telling her this is where she'd find him.

Police Sergeant Greer Lestrade wasn't just a daddy's girl, she was well and truly her father's daughter. For as well as Greg knew her, she knew her dad just as well. She'd grown up knowing him, after all.

She knew his habits, his moods, his mannerisms. She knew inflections in his voice, the subtle muscle twitches in his face, she could read his moods and very nearly read his thoughts, but most of all, she knew his heart, and his deep rooted dedication to all things that meant something to him.

She could read her dad like a bloody book. And her dad – indeed everyone in CID – had had a bloody awful shit kicker of a day.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out with resolve, she pushed on the door and walked in.

Stopping at the bar to pick up a scotch – neat – and a pint of Greg's preferred ale, she paid her tab and his, then smiled at the barmaid warmly. She paused to consider what she knew about the day, running it through her head, analyzing it, then finally proceeded to the corner table - what had become known by the staff and close friends and fellow Yarders alike as the "Lestrade Family Nook".

She stopped before sitting down, watching her dad for a few moments, thinking, taking in the subtle clues she was receiving.

"Another round, Sir?" she finally asked, still waiting patiently. When Greg failed to notice her standing there, she set the glasses down, then sat down.

"DCI Lestrade, Sir? Your daughter wishes to have a word, if convenient, Sir. If NOT convenient, she wishes to have a word anyway."

Greg finally seemed to break out of his own thoughts, looking up. He gave Greer a sad, exhausted half smile.

"Sergeant," he said, then, "thanks, Little Love."

"Anytime, Daddy," she said, sitting down and scootching close to him. "So," she started lightly, hoping to give herself more chance to read him. "We've had a bit of a day of it, haven't we." She paused a second to take a sip from her tumbler.

"You could say that, Greer. It isn't every day we lose…" he trailed off, his voice catching unexpectedly.

"Yeah," she said, placing her hand on the table and sliding it over to rest on top of his. "It's a dark, dark day, Dad. In case you're worried, I'm not _actually_ in a good mood. I'm only _just_ in a bearable one… but I've gotten a few things from you, besides your eyes and your height. I got that good old reliable Lestrade stiff upper lip." She took another small sip. "If you're wondering, I've already reported to Julian and when I asked him for permission to speak freely, and he granted it… well I'm afraid all professional decorum went rather pear shaped. That's about when I turned into a blubbering bundle of snot and tears."

"And how did Julian take it?"

"Well, given that Rosie is busy this week on a course, he threw out all protocol, and our favourite Detective Sergeant fell apart along with me, on my shoulder. It happens with family," she said softly, matter of factly. She huffed a humourless laugh. "Snot and tears are the great unifier between the ranks. We're all human after all, aren't we."

They were quiet for a few minutes, lost in thought, the only sounds at their table the soft clink of glasses being set down on the worn hardwood.

"Two young uniforms and a Detective Constable," Greg finally said. "You know Little Love, I think the worst of it for me isn't so much that we've lost three good people in their prime today… it's that my daughter and my nephew are now in the line of fire every single day. I could handle it until you and Julian joined up. And now here you are, two weeks away from detective school, Julian is a bloody Detective Sergeant, and it's not feeling any better."

"Dad," Greer said carefully, before lifting her glass for another sip, then setting it down to twirl it thoughtfully, "Do you worry about yourself when you're in danger? How many countless times over the years has that happened? Or do you just do your job as best you can, and leave the bloody aftermath for later?"

Greg closed his eyes, smiling to himself with resignation.

"I do my job as expected, of course. If I worried about my own safety every time I stepped into the field I'd be bloody useless as a copper."

"EXACTLY, Daddy," Greer said, grasping his arm and snugging up to him. She gave him a reassuring squeeze, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. "I don't worry about myself and neither does Julian. YOU taught me everything I needed to know to be a bloody kickass copper, years before I ever went to Hendon. You taught me that I was a strong girl, that I take after you and Mum, you taught me that where there is _breath_ there is _life_ and goddamnit daddy we're _still breathing_. After a day that has gone _completely_ to shit, _we. are. still. breathing_."

Greer paused as her breath threatened to catch, and she allowed her eyes to mist over, surrendering to the remnants of her emotions from earlier in the day.

"Within the week we'll be in our dress uniforms and we'll be watching three of our own carried by eighteen of THEIR own," she said thickly, as she impatiently brushed away tears, her voice breaking. "And it's going to be bloody fucking hard. But we're going to do it. _I_ can do it, Daddy," she breathed softly, "because _you_ taught me. You taught me how to, but most importantly you raised me to be someone who CAN."

Greg smiled weakly, turning to look his daughter in the eyes. "When did you get so bloody wise, Little Love?" he asked with tired wonder.

"The old man," she said casually, clearing her throat, grateful that her minor aftershock of emotion had passed for the moment. "He's a bit wise himself. Word has it I'm quite a lot like him, too. I'm a bit proud of that fact, myself," she said, hoping to put forth the sort of strength she knew her dad needed to see from her right about now.

"Really," Greg said. "Well word has it he's bloody proud of you himself. Word further has it that he should also know better than to worry about what sort of mettle you're made of."

Greer smiled briefly, then turned her expression curious, before looking at him again.

"Oh?" she asked. "And how should he know that?"

Greg sighed, giving his daughter a half smile. He jabbed his thumb towards her tumbler, saying, "Any lass who takes her scotch neat is a force to be reckoned with."

He watched her as she gazed into the amber pool in her tumbler, her mouth twitching in deep thought. "Well, then, I hope that he also knows she's right where she wants to be, without a single doubt or fear."

Greg smiled softly as Greer leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"He knows, Little Love. No worries. He knows."


	68. Gross Indignity

**_Gross Indignity_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Rosie and Julian, both backround_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg and adult Greer_

* * *

"Seriously, Dad," Greer said, sighing with clear disgust. "You're SURE I can't just get away with my dress uniform?"

Greg sat in the Nook at the pub, his last designated pint nearly gone and a fresh cup of the best coffee this side of his daughter's coffee pot sitting in front of him waiting.

"I'm pretty sure Rosie would be pissed and I'm doubly sure the only ones allowed to wear their dress uniforms are myself and the groom. Oh, and the groom's dad."

"That is SO unfair," she said, draining her glass of scotch. Four Yarders between us and all but one allowed to get off easy. I'm not a girly girl, Dad. You KNOW that. I worked damned hard to earn that uniform."

Greg snorted loudly at this. "Of course I know that, Little Love. Now I may only be a simple man, but I also know that traditionally the maid of bloody honour wears a real bloody dress. I'm sorry Greer, but I'm going to have to err on the side of the bride on this."

"Well so much for loyalty," she pouted. "Just remember you old fart, I'm the one choosing your nursing home, just keep THAT in mind, yeah?"

"Greer Sherla," Greg finally said, as firmly as he could muster without bursting into laughter that would only make the whole thing worse. "It's ONE bloody day, for one of your very best friends apart from Ciana. Rosie and Julian have been preparing for this day since they were six years old. It honestly wouldn't kill you to put on stockings and a dress for a paltry 12 hours.

"Daddy, you are SO mean. I HATE you," she pouted, before making the mistake of raising her face to make eye contact with Greg, who sat with dark brown eyes dancing with poorly concealed laughter.

"Well," he managed to squeak, his decorum clearly falling apart, "BE that as it may, the maid of honour STILL has to wear a dress."

"I suppose," Greer finally conceded. "And I suppose since technically they waited for me before setting the date…"

"Yes, they did, Detective Constable Lestrade," Greg said, finishing his pint and reaching for the coffee mug. "They wanted you to be free to participate without interrupting your studies. Because you are THAT important to them. To all of us really. So with all of that in mind, would it really be that hard to wear the damned dress for a day?"

Greer frowned at him, finishing her scotch, then eyeing her own coffee mug with a bit of anticipation. "I suppose not," she finally said.

"I am rather cute in it though, aren't I. If Rosie had to pick a dress for me to wear at least she chose one that suits."

Greg sipped on his coffee, thinking carefully.

Greer was almost appeased. ALMOST. This was a delicate stage.

"You are beautiful in it," he finally said. "You do your old dad proud. You're your mother all over aside from your eyes and your height."

"I suppose so," Greer reluctantly agreed. "Mum is gorgeous though," she smiled bashfully, "I'm not sure I do her justice. I like to consider I do best to think that I look like ME though," she said, hopefully.

"Well, you DO look like Molly," Greg said. "And believe me you do her justice, but yes, you look like Greer most of all and that's what matters. And something else that matters, Little Love, is that you wear the bloody dress for Rosie and Julian's wedding."

"The bloody dress," Greer sneered with poorly restrained disgust.

"It's ONE day," Greg reminded, as he sipped on his blissful brew.

Greer pouted, bringing her own mug up to her face, trying to take comfort in the aroma.

"When Rosie is happy, Julian is happy. And Julian is your superior officer, and now that you're CID you're far more likely to fall under his direct authority," Greg gently reminded her.

"GOD, I HATE it when you're right, Dad," Greer said. Her mouth twisted desperately as she glanced up at her dad's beaming face. She hated it it when a proper bad mood was ruined by her dad's laughing eyes and good humour.

"Heels or flats, then? Because that's the only thing I apparently have a choice with."

"Well, if it were me, which it obviously isn't as I'll be in my DCI dress uniform," he couldn't help himself teasing her with, "I'd go with flats. 12 hours is a lot of time in heels for a lady who doesn't normally wear them."

"Well, flats and the bloody dress it is then, I suppose," Greer finally said, lifting her coffee mug.

"To Rosie and Julian, may they be bloody worth my dignity being sacrificed," she said, with an eye roll and a giggle, raising her coffee mug.

Greg cleared his throat softly, raising his own mug to clink against Greer's. "To Rosie and Julian, may the maid of honour survive the gross indignity of the day."


	69. Anniversaries

**Anniversaries**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Romance, Romance, Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, John in a cameo_

* * *

Greg listened intently to John's instructions, which had also, most considerately (and wisely), been written down.

"Remember, you've got to pay attention. Don't be getting too distracted. Timing is critical with this. If you leave it in too long you'll end up with two hard lumps. The idea is to pull them out so that they ooze when pressure is applied."

Greg nodded. "Got it. I really can't thank you enough, John. I want tonight to be special for Molly. Anniversaries come but once a year and I refuse to become one of those husbands who's always forgetting the important days."

John grinned, hoping he remembered days like this with Alex when there were very young children in the mix. Somehow, John knew that he wouldn't likely forget, with the help of his Baker Street family.

"I know chocolate lava cakes are a bit clichéd, but there's no denying they're decadent. Especially the way I make them," John said. "Set the timer and don't leave the kitchen. Snog her all you want while they bake but for God's sake do it in the kitchen so you make sure to pull them out when the timer goes off, and be sure to serve them warm."

"I can cook six ways from Sunday but baking eludes me," Greg laughed. "I'm kicking myself I forgot flowers. Thank God Mrs. Hudson offered her garden. Did the best I could but it's a bit…"

" _Special_ , Greg. It's special, and she'll love it."

Greg grinned thoughtfully. "Yeah, hope so."

"She will. Anyway your instructions are written down on that note by the oven, in case you get distracted and forget. Good luck, Rosie has plans for Greer and the boys, so we'll have a grand night of it."

"Thanks again, John," Greg grinned.

* * *

When Molly arrived home, earlier than normal as she had planned on Greg's request, she was greeted by her husband and the delectable aroma of manicotti in the oven.

"Oh, my," she purred, as she wove her way past two cats and a pocket beagle.

"What's the occasion, my gorgeous silver fox?"

Greg smiled at her seductively, his dark brown eyes turning bedroom mode in a flash.

"Our anniversary," he said simply.

"Our… anniversary?" Molly asked, as she found her way to his arms. Wandering hands – on both their parts – and wandering lips as well, distracted her from her query for several minutes, before she finally remembered what she'd asked him.

"Darling, our anniversary isn't for another four months."

"Our wedding anniversary, yes. But every couple has more than one, unless they're extremely OCD and set every date exactly the same."

"Alright, then," Molly said, turning her attention to his neck, working her way back up around his jawline with tender kisses that sent shivers down Greg's spine, and a few other places as well.

"Our couple anniversary isn't today either, though. That was last… wee… OH..." she suddenly said, her hazel eyes widening and her smile lighting up her face.

"Yeah," Greg said, as he started working on her blouse buttons.

"THAT anniversary. So why are we celebrating that one?"

"Because it's not generally celebrated, Love. I wanted to surprise you with something completely random and off the wall. Unfortunately," he coughed softly, "it was so random I forgot to pick up proper flowers for you… so… well… I hope you like them," he said, blushing and nodding towards the table.

Molly's attention turned to the vase on their table. She recognized it as one that she and Greg had received with cut flowers from the Andersons to use as a table centerpiece for one of their Christmas Eve gatherings.

"This is… beautiful," she said, quite honestly. "Mrs. Hudson's garden?" she asked.

"Yeah," Greg admitted. "With her permission of course. I apologize for the foliage but it's the best she had and it seemed to suit…"

"It's delicate and does suit, yes. My bouquet smells like a pickle but it's beautiful, Gregory," Molly said, gently touching the tendrils of dill weed that Greg had used for greenery out of desperation.

"In fact," she said, turning back to him, "It's the most beautiful bouquet I have ever received from you, because you made it yourself and you did what you could with what you had."

"It smells like Mrs. Hudson's kitchen when she's canning," he laughed, wincing slightly.

"Maybe, but to me, it smells like true love," Molly said, turning back to him and smiling, her eyes shining.

Greg wasn't quite prepared for this reaction to the flower arrangement he'd thrown together last minute, so he absorbed her appreciation, and decided the time was right for that distraction that John had warned against.

He picked up the kitchen timer, and took it with him the few steps over to where Molly was, wrapping his free hand around her, letting it wander wherever it pleased.

"I love you, Dr. Lestrade," he breathed against her neck, as she caught her breath and a small moan escaped her throat. She gasped as his free hand found its way to where it had on this anniversary, of all anniversaries, he had for some reason, chosen to acknowledge and celebrate.

"That's MRS. Lestrade to you," she giggled softly, letting him lead her to their bedroom.

In the end, the timer did its work – twice. Dinner was perfect and so were John's dark chocolate lava cakes – though those, admittedly, only just barely escaped the oven in time.

Molly had giggled, wearing nothing but one of his shirts and a smile, as he dashed for the kitchen wearing a frantic expression and little else, muttering "BOLLOCKS, the bloody cakes…!"

"They'll be too hot to eat for at least a few minutes, won't they?" she asked mischievously.

Greg, setting down his oven mitts, turned back to her. "Oh yeah. Definitely too hot to handle," he purred, turning back to her with renewed appetite.

Though saved from overcooking, the cakes had, unfortunately, NOT managed to be served timely enough to still be warm.

Molly and Greg didn't much care though.

"We have another anniversary next week," Greg pointed out, as he and his wife lay tangled in sheets and afterglow.

"Oh?" Molly asked, lazily. "What's that?"

"It's the anniversary of Morrie catching his first mouse. Sometime in between is also International Take Your Houseplant for a Walk Day," he said, casually.

"Bollocks Gregory, you're making that up."

"No, I'm not. Honestly, it's a real day." He grinned at the ceiling as Molly began to tremor with laughter.

"We don't have any houseplants," she pointed out, still giggling.

"Well then, I suppose we'll just have to stay in," he said, leaning into her with his mouth and catching her laughter with his own.


	70. What Agape Means

**What _Agape_ Means**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Angst_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly_

 ** _Chapter Tie-in:_** _DS Ambrose is mentioned in Chapter 42, "Phillip's Christmas Lullaby"_

* * *

Molly had had a rough week, but for as draining as it had been, she knew that Greg had had it worse.

When she walked in on him in their bedroom, he stood in front of the full length mirror in his full dress uniform, a pinched, pained expression on his face.

The sorrow it beheld seemed to add unnatural years to him. Molly knew this was only temporary, though.

"Still fits alright," she observed quietly. "Maybe a bit loose in places."

"It'll do," Greg said, softly.

Molly said nothing to this, merely approaching her husband from behind and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, bringing her forearms up to rest along his chest, clutching him to her protectively. Greg sighed and brought his hands up to clutch hers in his own, interlacing their fingers.

"I don't know I could do this again without you, Love," he said, his gravelly voice sounding utterly exhausted with the whole business of being a decades long veteran of Scotland Yard. "I've done it too many times already, this time may have finished me with the whole sodding business if not for you."

Molly loosened her grip as Greg turned to face her.

"Do you know yet what you'll say?" she said simply.

Greg closed his eyes, shaking his head, seeming lost. "Not a bloody clue, Love. I'm no good at these things, there's a reason Sally looks after the public relations. I just show up to be the token team leader and answer a few press questions. Eulogies are just…"

He took a sudden breath, letting it out slowly, not finishing his sentence.

"I know," Molly said, simply, running her hands up the sides of his dress uniform jacket. She settled them on his shoulder blades, holding him firmly but comfortably.

"Tell me about Detective Sergeant Jared Ambrose," she said softly.

"He was a good copper. He was fast on his feet, a quick thinker. He had a keen eye for details, small details. He had the sort've eye Sherlock has, but with department protocol and regulations in mind."

"A sniffer dog with obedience training," Molly said, with a tiny smile. Greg noticed this, and smiled himself, ever so briefly.

"Yeah," Greg said. "Something like that," he said roughly.

"What else then, darling?" Molly urged, moving her hands unconsciously to rub his back, comforting.

"He was just bloody brilliant with families," Greg said, with a faraway look and a subtle smile. "Many's the time I watched him calm a hysterical wife, or a husband wild with grief and anger. Children too, terrified children. Ambrose had a way with them all. He could coax out such critical detail in his way. If he couldn't get it from a scene, he could get it from our witnesses, before time and trauma had a chance to distort their own memories."

Molly brought her hands forward, absently playing with Greg's tie, straightening it, smoothing it out, before bringing her hand up to his neck, her thumb gently stroking his jaw – her way of letting him know he wasn't alone in any of this.

"We say the first forty-eight hours in any investigation is critical, and I'm convinced that many of my team's cases were made by Jared's skill in those first hours."

"What did you know of him personally, then?" she asked gently. "Jared, versus Ambrose."

"He was a fighter. Even this last, when he was on Dimmock's team, he summoned me to the pub to tell me of his diagnosis, God Love, he was a fighter even THEN."

Molly was silent for a few moments. " _Do not go gentle into that good night_ *…" she quoted softly.

" _Rage, rage, against the dying of the light_ *," Greg finished soberly, his voice hitting a low tone that nearly broke Molly's heart. "He raged, oh God Molly, he raged. It just… wasn't enough."

"He still didn't go gentle though, did he darling?"

"God, no. Even to the end he was determined to return to active duty before year's end. I still don't know if he was in denial, or just the bravest young bastard I've ever had the honour to know."

"Was he strong for himself, or strong for others?"

"I've no bloody clue, Love. I suspect it was a front. Trying to make the rest of us at ease. Trying to take burden off of the rest of us."

" _There has to be a special place for him, who held in more than he could bear to shield the rest of us from care_ **..." Molly quoted softly.

" _A rarity, who showed us what_ Agape _means_ **." Greg finished.

"Well, he had a legacy then, didn't he?" Molly gently pointed out. "He had colleagues who loved him and who he loved back. He raged for you, and for strangers. He tried to shield you all, but he never knew of his legacy, did he?."

"No. Kieran and one of Dimmock's other Sergeants organized a bone marrow testing drive just before Jared passed. I don't think anyone in CID missed out taking part."

"See," Molly said, smiling, bringing her hand up to tweak his collar. "Even in death he made an impact. Still making a difference, that one. To serve and protect to the end, and even a bit beyond it."

"Maybe just not in the conventional Yarder's sense," Greg admitted.

"Well then," Molly finally said, nudging Greg's chin up to look her in the eyes. "There you have it. Your eulogy."

"You make it sound so bloody easy, Love," Greg said sadly. "I've done this too many times over the years. I'm not sure I can do it again once I've gotten through this one. He isn't gone because he was shot, or stabbed, or taken out in an on-duty accident. It was bloody cancer. We can take precautions against on-duty perils, but this… there was no training against this. No evasive measures, no bloody defense," he said, his voice finally breaking.

"I have no answers for that, I'm afraid," Molly said, sadly, as she brought her hands up to cup his face, catching the tears of rage and grief. She stood on her tiptoes to reach up, kissing him ever so softly.

"Come on then," she said. "The uniform fits fine, so let's get you out of it now before Toby decides to jump on your back and put cat hair all over it. Your pyjamas are freshly laundered today, and we've had plans to watch that old miniseries on the telly all week. I've a date with my husband on the sofa, and I intend to keep it."

Molly paused a moment, thinking. "What's it called again? Forsythe? Chronicles? Something like that?"

Greg smiled for the first time in what felt to him as ages.

"The Forsyte Saga."

"Yeah," Molly said. "That's it. I hear the actor playing Young Jolyon is a right proper dishy little fox," she winked.

Greg took a deep breath, smiling and shaking his head. "Yeah, but it was filmed years ago. I bet he's a balding middle aged old has-been by now who hasn't worked since, or been seen nor heard from by anyone in Britain in years." He grinned briefly, then let it soften into gratitude. "Thank you, Love," he said.

Molly nodded in return.

"If I ever take anything we have together for granted, promise me you'll remind me of Jared, because that will be a swift enough kick in the ass to set me straight again."

"I promise," she said, as she stepped away to retrieve his pyjamas. "Now get yourself changed, Inspector. I'll get the popcorn started. Film starts in 10 minutes. Jolyon Forsyte and I will be waiting for you on the sofa."

* * *

 _* "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas. No copyright violation intended._

 _** "To One, Now Gone, Who Always Let His Hunting Partner Claim a Downed Bird", by Jimmy Carter. No copyright violation intended._


	71. Rosie's Promise

**Rosie's Promise**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _John and Alex, Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, Rosie and Julian future hinted at_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Ensemble, introducing Daniel Morstan Alexander Watson_

* * *

Greg tried not to roll his eyes at this moment.

At least, it occurred to him, he was in labour and delivery, properly, with no heroics expected of him. All he needed to do was offer a few fingers to break (they'd heal in plenty of time for guitar lullabies anyway, he thought, brushing the worry off), and some words of support (ask anyone at Baker Street - Greg knew his words of wisdom - and the wisdom to know when - and when not - to impart them).

He wasn't, after all, on the edge of a forest called Dewar's Hollow on the moors, delivering who would ultimately come full circle to become one of his most valued team members.

He wasn't trapped somewhere in a city wide power outage finding himself in his most awkward of "awkward moments", catching twins from one of his Detective Sergeants, now beloved neighbours and extended family.

He was merely an impromptu birthing coach, in a proper birthing setting.

No pressure, no stress.

But damn Sherlock Holmes and his bloody follies, taking John away when Alex was in labour.

So admittedly, she was a week and a half early, and nobody could have truly predicted this. John was a doctor, still he should know better.

When John finally arrived, Alex, still laboring, grasped his hand, indicated with a death glare that Sherlock had better bloody well stay too if he knew what was good for him, and gripped Greg's hand even harder, letting HIM know in no uncertain terms that he was going anywhere either.

From there, she had allowed herself free rein to begin giving birth in earnest.

Greg and John thought they felt a few fingers crack, while Sherlock took a spot at her head, gently cooling her fevered brow with an ice water cloth, and whispering to her in his most soothing baritone.

Daniel Morstan Alexander Watson would find his way into their world with haste. They would learn through the years, that their Danny Boy had little patience for fools, and even less for a fool in himself… thus proven in his very first moments, with angry cries and impatient latching to his mother's breast. Only then satiated would he allow himself to meet the rest of his extended family without protest.

John's eyes brimmed over to overflowing at the hearing of Alex's final decision to their son's name.

"Daniel" he had expected, as he had been calling the baby "Danny" unconsciously since the moment of discovery that Alex was pregnant.

It fit for a girl or a boy, really. Daniel for a son would be marvelous, but Danielle for a girl would be no less welcome. He was already wrapped around one little girl's finger. What was one more?

"Alexander" as well, was not a surprise. It was a good name, a solid name. An inarguable name.

A beloved name.

"Morstan", however, was unconventional, and an unexpected acknowledgement of the other part of his heart, and Rosie's, held dear by one now departed, and loved for that very reason by the one who now held those same hearts in the places that dwelled in the present.

Mrs. Hudson, for her part, lost all decorum, fleeing the room to cry like a baby with wordless joy, with an alarmed look from Sherlock, who promptly followed her in sonly concern, finding after all, that it was simply an overwhelmed heart at play.

Greg stayed, watching, knowing Mrs. H was in good hands, and instead occupied himself with the greeting of what would ultimately, gratefully even, be this final new little resident of Baker Street.

"You've some shoes to fill, Young Dan," he said softly to the newborn in his arms. "But no worries laddie, they're your own shoes, and they'll fit you perfectly." He gently caressed the newborn's forehead, grateful he'd said his piece before his voice caught, before handing him over to Molly.

"Well, little man," she said softly. "You're a welcome sight, aren't you. You've two mums you know. Well, three. No… four… okay, five mums. I'll stop counting now. You've your mum, and me, and your Auntie Sally, and your great beautiful Auntie Hudders, but you've got your mummy Mary in spirit, because I know she's here right now, beautiful boy."

Molly handed the baby over to Sally, who managed to wipe away a tear just as Sherlock returned with Mrs. Hudson, now composed and beaming.

"Well you've a right nerve young man," she said softly. "Not much patience, hey? Well no worries, I've no patience for fools either, little one. Let's not suffer those fools gladly together, hey? Your Auntie Sally will always stand by you for that."

Sally, seeing Mrs. Hudson's return, handed the baby over to their beloved matriarch.

"Well, look at you go, little man," Mrs. Hudson managed to say. "Mind you're the last now. Our little home is filled to bursting with your arrival. I fear we shan't take much else. Oh, but you're a handsome little one, our beautiful, beautiful boy." Mrs. Hudson finally tore her eyes away from him long enough to look up and smile, an errant tear still cascading down her cheek.

She passed him over to Sherlock, who simply smiled. "Obvious, really. Your name. One day you'll understand it Mr. Watson, but in the meantime, I'll try my best to drop hints to it. But a word of advice, young man," he said, smiling his classic Sherlock smile. "Your sister won't put up with any nonsense. Mind you heed her words, for she knows what she speaks of. She's a wise one, our Rosie. She won't lead you astray, little lad."

Rosie, for her part, wished for all the world that Julian could be there with her, but of course, he couldn't. So she alone took her turn holding Daniel. She knew, after all, that before the week was out, her Jules would have his turn at holding this baby brother of theirs.

"Hi, little brother," she said softly. "Mind you listen, now. Uncle Sherlock is very clever, you'll learn that. Our daddy is so very smart, and he'll never let us go astray." John, standing by, felt his composure failing at this.

"Mummy is so very strong, and she loves us so. If you hurt her I'll smack you silly, mark my words," she promised, "because I'm your big sister and I CAN, and I WILL." Alex grimaced at this, before realizing what Rosie really meant.

"Uncle Greg is very, very wise. When all else fails, go to Uncle Greg, because he'll know what to do." Greg took a sharp breath, letting it out with a look to Molly.

"Auntie Molly and Auntie Sally are our other mums," Rosie continued. "When mummy says no, we may still have a chance with them. Remember that too, handsome little one. And if they fail us, we may still have Mrs. Hudson. She NEVER says no." Rosie practically winked with a conspiratorial gleam in her blue eyes.

"But most of all," Rosie said, without a single tear from herself, "I'm Rosie. I'm your big sister, and you'll soon enough meet Jules and he'll be your big brother too, because I'm going to marry him someday. We will stand by you forever and ever, because that's what big sisters and big brothers do. That I promise to you Danny."

"Now there's one other person you need to know about," Rosie said solemnly, "but I don't know much about her." Finally breaking her gaze from her newborn sibling, Rosie looked up to the adults in the room.

"You are named Morstan because you're strong and determined," John said, leaning over Rosie's shoulder to speak to his newborn, thinking back to some of the earlier troubles Alex had had with her pregnancy.

"Mary Morstan is your family, though not by blood," Sherlock said softly. "Blood may be thicker than water little lad, but water runs deep. Trust me on this. Her legacy will be yours."

"Mostly," Greg said, smiling, "you are named after two women who love fiercely and without doubts or waver. One day, our little laddie, you'll understand that too, and if you have trouble, I promise you we'll all be here to help you to understand."

Alex, spent but overjoyed, simply smiled with exhausted contentment as she took her rightful turn holding her son.

Greg shared a look with Sherlock, before both men indicated wordlessly that they should vacate the room and leave this new addition with his family for the time being.

Daniel Morstan Alexander Watson, after all, had had a very eventful day of it. He had earned his rest.

There would be time enough, later, to learn the ways of his fellow Baker Streeters.


	72. All Is Well

**All Is Well**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, drama_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, John and Alex, Rosie and Julian future hinted_

 ** _Main characters:_** Greg, Rosie, John and Julian background

* * *

"Shouldn't Daddy have texted you by now Uncle Greg?" Rosie said, as she cuddled close to him on the sofa at 221A, seeking comfort and reassurance.

"He will, lass. No worries, Julian is in good hands," he said, giving her a squeeze and a soft kiss to her temple. "It's just that he's very ill and it's taking a bit of time to fix what's wrong and set him to rights again." Greg tightened his arm around the young girl.

Rosie tried not to be impatient, but when she and Julian had been busy with a homework project at 221A and he had suddenly doubled over in pain, she kicked herself for not doing something about it sooner when she first noticed that he wasn't well.

He was quieter than usual, and his voice revealed something that gave her a distinct impression that something wasn't right with her Jules, that he was hurting badly in some way.

He had been pale, and favouring his right side unconsciously. His focus didn't seem to be there, and his voice, normally already softspoken, was barely above a whisper.

Rosie didn't necessarily know what that meant precisely, but she knew something was very wrong.

When she had cried out for help, after Julian had doubled over, her dad had arrived in a flash, and rushed him suddenly towards the ground level door. Carrying him cradle style and shouting to Greg to watch Rosie, John had been grateful to see Greg rushing up the stairs to meet him.

"Can't be sure but I think appendicitis," John said, as Greg got the door for him and wordlessly handed him Mrs. Hudson's car keys. "Silly brave little bugger, Rosie says he's been off for days and hasn't complained a whit. I think it may be near bursting based on his symptoms. We've not a minute to lose."

"I'll look after Rosie, no worries. Keep me posted, John. You know Rosie will want updates and your daughter will be righteously pissed if you don't provide them."

John smiled briefly, then nodded in gratitude before whisking a sobbing and miserable Julian into Mrs. Hudson's car, the keys left accessible with strict instructions to not hesitate in case of emergency.

Greg bounded through the door to 221A, grateful for once that his own three and Daniel were gone with Molly and Alex, finding a confused and upset Rosie Watson.

So now he sat, an occasional text update from John, with an arm wrapped around Rosie, finally calmed with gravelly whispers and calming words. Now and then, he felt her breathing become jagged, and felt tears soak through his shirt.

 _In the operating theatre now. Confirmed acute appendicitis. It burst as he was being prepped. ~JW_

 _Our poor little lad. Was he at least under when it burst? ~GL_

 _Thankfully yes. Hurts like all bloody hell as a rule but he was already anesthetized. Not much time for the toxins to do damage either. ~JW_

 _Thank God for small mercies then. Should I distract Rosie? ~GL_

 _Please do. ~JW_

 _Has she ever ridden a horse before? GL_

A few minutes passed as Greg surmised John was considering the question with trepidation, and confidence, all rolled together in some weird sort of glorious consolation of paternal emotion.

 _No. But with you there guarantee she'll be fine with it. ~JW_

 _Keep me posted John. ~GL_

 _Absolutely. You as well. Thanks Greg. ~JW_

* * *

"You probably don't know this about me Lass, but I have two hobbies that I fell to years ago when I was in the midst of my divorce."

Rosie smiled distractedly, still worried about Julian. "Your guitar, Uncle. You learned to play it."

"Yes," Greg nodded, as he navigated his way to the riding stables.

"I chose the guitar so I could toss it in the boot and take a drive. Sometimes I found a spot out in the countryside to play. But sometimes I just went to the stables. I've ridden since I was a young lad, just a bit older than Julian, but I hadn't done it in years after I grew up."

"Life got in the way, Uncle?" Rosie asked.

"Yeah," Greg chuckled softly. "Something like that."

"I've never ridden a horse before Uncle. I'm a bit… afraid." Rosie admitted, trying not to let her focus move back to her best friend, so very sick.

"Ah, no worries, Rosamund," Greg said, not quite brushing off her fears, but rather, trying to alleviate them instead. "I'll be right there beside you. I _promise_ you I won't let anything happen to you. Have I ever?"

Rosie sighed. "No, of course not, Uncle."

"Anyway, I think you'll get along famously with Mugsie's Pride. She's a Shetland pony, so she's smaller, and probably a bit less frightening for you, and she has a wonderful gentle temperament. The stables recommend her for first time kids like yourself. You can call her Mugs for short. She's a very patient little mare."

Rosie seemed to settle her nerves a bit with that.

"Who is your horse, Uncle?" she asked.

Greg smiled, taking note of her phrasing. "Who", versus "what". Already, Rosie considered the horses to be friends, rather than objects.

"Oh, I have a couple," Greg said, as he shifted his focus between her and making the turns into the short roads leading to the stables.

"Today I'll see first if Golden Boy is available. He's a palomino gelding, oh Rosie, he's just beautiful. You'd love him. Maybe someday if you take to this we can put you on his back. He's called Goldie for short."

Rosie considered this.

"What if Goldie isn't available?" Greg noticed that Rosie seemed distracted, or starting to be, so he went with it.

"Well then, my other one is a thoroughbred gelding. He's sleek and beautiful, jet black. He's a bit spirited sometimes but I've been riding for years, mind." Greg said. "He seems to know your moods and reacts to them. I think if I ride him today he'll know and behave accordingly."

"What's his name, Uncle?" Rosie said, as she watched the countryside roll by. Greg smiled.

Mission accomplished.

"Peppercorn."

"Uncle, that's the lamest name EVER," Rosie protested, with a soft giggle.

"Yeah well, I only ride him, Lass, I didn't name him," Greg said, as he pulled into the parking spot.

When they had made their way to the stables, and Rosie had met Mugs, and satisfied herself that all would be well, Greg took only a few moments to check his phone.

 _Out of surgery. Textbook so far. Yes that's a good thing. ~JW_

 _Shall I say anything to Rosie? She's distracted with Mugs. I'm inclined only if she asks. ~GL_

 _Who the hell is Mugs? And yes, if she asks but otherwise leave be. ~JW_

 _Her favourite Shetland pony. ~GL_

 _Rosie doesn't have a favourite Shetland pony. ~JW_

 _Oh, she does NOW. ~GL_

 _Thanks again Greg. You're a Godsend. ~JW_

 _I shall send pictures of your daughter once she's in saddle. ~GL_

Once Greg had Rosie and himself both properly outfitted in riding boots and a helmet, and had boosted the nervous girl into her saddle with a reassuring squeeze of her hand and his warmest of smiles, he had mounted his own steed. Today, as it turned out, it was Pepper, and just as Greg towered over Rosie, Pepper towered over Mugs. Rosie was awestruck and instantly in love at the beauty, sleekness, and sheer size of the stunning thoroughbred her uncle was mounted upon.

"Do you think I might ride him one day?" she asked, completely smitten.

Greg had smiled. "Perhaps, if you want to continue. Maybe we can make this a regular outing. None of my kids are interested in riding, so maybe this can be our special thing. You'll soon enough outgrow the ponies, Lass."

Rosie beamed at this, instantly taken with the saddle, and the gentle grace and strength of the pony beneath her, not to mention the idea of having something special to share with Uncle Greg. Already, she couldn't wait to ride Pepper, or Goldie, with him.

"Easy, now," Greg urged gently, as they began to move. "Just relax. She'll walk for you, just hang on and don't be afraid. When you're ready, she'll trot," he said, moving next to her on his much larger horse.

Pepper didn't seem bored, so much, as resigned. He was a thoroughbred, and he preferred to gallop, full tilt, with Greg crouched down and giving him free rein, for he was a horse who was born to run. Greg loved that too, he found it to be liberating and utterly exhilarating after a particularly hard day, feeling his own spirit soar along with the steed he rode.

Mounted on Pepper, Greg's troubles vanished in the wind behind the wake of the ecstatic gelding. On the horse, he knew nothing but freedom and relief, and when Pepper finally slowed himself to a trot, and then to a walk, Greg felt gratitude that he'd been allowed to share in that burst of raw spirit.

But just as Greg understood what was needed, so, it seemed, did Pepper. The gelding huffed gently, walking patiently beside the much smaller pony that Rosie rode, as the young girl's confidence grew and Mugs seemed to sense it. As Mugs moved into a trot, so did Pepper.

"Is Goldie as big as Pepper, Uncle?" Rosie asked, as she found herself more and more at ease on her pony.

"Nearly. Horses are measured in hands, and a hand is four inches. Pepper here is 17 hands high. Goldie is 16 hands, roundabouts. I think you'd like eachother, lass. Horses and ponies seem to know a person's heart and intentions. That's probably why Mugs has taken to you so well."

"If I can't ride Pepper yet, may I ride Goldie, next time?"

Greg smiled, thinking how easy her birthday present was going to be this year. "We'll see, Lass."

So distracted was Greg with his afternoon on horseback with Rosie, that he hadn't thought to check his phone until a full 10 minutes past John's last message. Dismounting from Pepper, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to take a look.

 _All is well. Tell Rosie please. ~JW_

 _A bit distracted? ~JW_

 _Greg? ~JW_

 _Sorry John. Yes distracted. She's a case of love at first sight. ~GL_

 _Julian, or Mugs? ~JW_

 _Both. But in this case Mugs. And Pepper. I'll tell her once she's shifted focus. ~GL_

 _Pepper? Do I want to know who the hell Pepper is? ~JW_

 _Not likely. Yet. ~GL_

 _Never mind, I trust your judgement. Thanks for the photos btw. She's stunning on horseback. Looks a natural. ~JW_

 _Just wait until you see her on Goldie next time. She's indeed stunning and a natural both. All is well. ~GL_

 _Wait, Greg, who the hell is Goldie? ~JW_

Greg laughed out loud at this, as he shook his head and slipped his phone back into his shirt pocket without bothering to respond to John just yet. Smiling with giddy relief, he turned to Rosie to help her down from her saddle. "Your dad's just texted with some very good news, Lass," he said, as he lifted her down.


	73. A Very Good Start

**A Very Good Start**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Kieran and Emma, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Julian, Rosie_

* * *

"OH, it was SO much fun, Jules. I wish you could have been there, but of course…" Rosie trailed off, her excitement suddenly waning in a hurry.

"It's alright Rosa. I've never much liked horses anyway," Julian giggled softly and carefully. "Anyway if you had fun with Mr. Greg so you didn't worry too much about me, I'm glad for it." He gave a weak smile to his best friend.

"You MIGHT have liked Mugs," Rosie said. "She's so small compared to Goldie and Pepper. Oh they're ENORMOUS," she breathed out excitedly. "Maybe not for Uncle, because he's a grown-up, and a rather tall one at that, but for me they are," she said, laughing. "When he took me back to the stables yesterday he taught me how to ride a big horse. Goldie is SO pretty, and he's so gentle too, I wasn't frightened at ALL to ride him. Mugs was busy with another rider but I didn't mind. I wanted to see things the way Uncle Greg saw them and since Goldie and Pepper were both available it was a chance for me to learn. I got to sit up NEARLY as high as he does!"

Rosie cut herself off suddenly, a bit embarrassed at her rambling.

"I'm sorry, Jules. I didn't mean to babble…" she said quietly.

Julian just smiled at her. "Oh, don't feel bad Rosa, please," he said soothingly. "I'm sure there are things I like doing that you don't enjoy either. But most things we enjoy together, that's what counts, isn't it?"

Greg, who had been standing in the doorway for just under a minute, strolled in, smiling.

"That's the best way to love someone you know. Enjoying things on your own but enjoying most things together."

Rosie and Julian gazed at him together, smiling, before Greg, reaching down to smile at Rosie and tousel her blonde locks, said, "Rosamund, you mum wanted your help with Daniel, soon as you're free."

Rosie smiled up at him before looking down at Julian and reaching down to give his hand a squeeze. "I'll be back when I can," she promised, solemnly.

When she had left, Julian looked to Greg with an odd expression.

"Mr. Greg, I know I don't USUALLY ask, but would you mind… I mean would it be okay… well I rather need a hug and was wondering if you'd mind…"

Greg's look turned to one of concern. Julian sounded worried about something. His brow furrowed, before he finally reached down to carefully scoop the young boy up into his arms and onto his lap.

"Just like that," Julian said, contentedly, as he gingerly maneuvered himself against Greg's shoulder, to recline against his arm. Julian, still easily tired from his only slightly complicated appendectomy and the resulting recovery time, sighed softly before speaking again. "The thing is, Mr. Greg, I wanted to talk to you without Rosa here."

Greg cleared his throat softly, bringing his free hand around to interlock his fingers together, forming a cradle for the young boy to lean back into.

"You know I want to be a policeman someday, just like you, and daddy, and Uncle Ben," Julian started, as he wiggled himself back into the comfort of Greg's arms.

Greg wasn't sure he'd gotten that memo, but knew that if he hadn't before, it had just landed on his desk with a big thud.

"I know that takes a lot of time away from home, and well, Rosa doesn't know this yet but I know she wants to be a nurse, like her mum. I'm going to marry her someday, you know," he said quite seriously, even though none of that was news to Greg, or any of the other grownups, including Kieran and Emma. "I know there will be a lot of times when we can't be together, so I want her to find things to have fun doing without me," he said solemnly.

"I also want to have things I like to do without her, because I know there will be times she isn't around either. I don't want either of us to be too sad when we have to be apart."

Greg smiled lightly at this. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before speaking.

"You're a very clever and wise little lad, you know. Might I tell you a secret, Julian?"

Julian's eyes lit up with curiosity, as he turned his bright green eyes up towards Greg.

"I know you're going to marry Rosie," Greg whispered. "It's plain as day you're meant to," he said, winking.

Julian's green eyes grew large. "Really?" he asked, shocked.

"Mmm hmm," Greg hummed, nodding. "Really. Sometimes grown-ups just know these things," he said.

"Will I know those sorts of things when _I'm_ a grown-up, Mr. Greg?" the young boy asked with cautious optimism.

"Oh, I think you already know some of those things, Little Lad," Greg said, bringing a hand up to tousle Julian's light ginger curls. "So what do you enjoy that Rosie isn't particularly fond of?"

"Oh, I just LOVE a good game of football," Julian said, with as much enthusiasm as his waning energy could muster. "Rosa isn't very fond of it. She'll watch it but I don't think she cares for it much. She definitely doesn't like to play it."

"Well, football isn't for everyone, Little Lad. Personally, I like to have a nice footy match now and then myself. Keeps my old joints flexible," Greg laughed.

"Daddy does too," Julian said, carefully shifting himself to turn more towards Greg to face him. "Mummy loves it, she says Daddy is dishy in his footy uniform. What does dishy mean, Mr. Greg?"

Greg blinked several times before clearing his throat lightly. "Well, it just means that your mum thinks your dad is handsome, and she likes the way your he looks sometimes is all, especially when he's in his football gear."

"I see," Julian said, thoughtfully. "Well I think she doesn't like the game so much as watching daddy play it."

Greg felt inclined to agree with that, but kept his assessment to himself. Sometimes, he suspected Molly felt the same way as Emma Bailey did on that particular topic, when he himself was outfitted for a nice Sunday afternoon match with the Met's intramural squad, which included, of course, Kieran Bailey.

"So Rosa loves horseback riding with you, and I love football. Do you think that's enough for us to be happy having fun without each other now and then?"

Greg turned his face down to look at the young boy.

"I think it's a very good start," Greg said, solemnly.


	74. Feeling Poorly

**Feeling Poorly**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, John and Alex, Sherlock and Sally, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Ensemble_

* * *

Greg Lestrade woke up from a fitful sleep, and almost immediately, he was afraid he was going to die.

He lay there for a few moments, the dampness of his fevered brow making him shiver, his stomach beginning to roil ominously again as his head, sporting a splitting headache, threatened to send him over the edge.

It was around this time that he became aware that he was, instead, afraid he was going to live.

"Daddy?" Greer said softly, sitting beside him on the bed. Greg felt small hands touch his forehead, brushing away his damp bangs, then felt a blessedly soothing cool cloth move against it, deliberately and gently, as if moved by a diminutive caregiver. He shifted his focus, turning his head gingerly, finding himself looking right into the concerned brown eyes of his small daughter.

"Oh, Little Love," he managed to say weakly. "Thank you, that feels so wonderful sweetheart. Is mummy here?"

Greer smiled down at him, patting his cheek lovingly. "Yes, daddy. She's upstairs with Auntie Alex looking for some medicine for you. Uncle John is very sick too. So is Uncle Sherlock. Why are you all so poorly, Daddy?"

Greg closed his eyes as a wave of nausea hit him. He lay as still as possible as his head began to spin, a cold sweat breaking out all over his body, praying for it to pass. He swallowed hard, trying to keep the foul knot moving up his gullet from escaping prematurely. He tried to keep his breathing even and calmed, and finally, mercifully, the feeling passed.

He blinked a few times, trying to remember what had happened.

Oh yes.

Sherlock.

Sherlock Bloody "Let's just grab something at this small random fly by night food truck we've never seen before" Holmes.

And John.

John Sodding "Why not looks like a decent enough place" Watson.

Greg wasn't sure he couldn't blame himself a little bit too, if he were to be completely fair minded about it.

He should have known by now never to utter those damned words. It never ended well when he did.

Greg Flamin' "What's the worst that could happen" Lestrade. He blinked as he realized he was cussing _himself_ out.

That phrase, when voiced out loud, was a virtual guarantee of the fates rubbing their hands together with diabolical glee, and saying, "Hold my pint and _watch this_."

After that, all he remembered was a blur of being mesmerized by his own reflection in the water in the bowl of the loo while he kneeled in front of the porcelain goddess and offered up his dinner as a sacrifice.

Two hours later, when the retching had finally tapered off enough, Molly had helped him into bed, with Scott and John helping her as Greer slept, kissed his forehead, and left him to sleep in peace.

"Well," he said to Greer, "I think Daddy and your Uncles might have eaten something for dinner yesterday that was a bit off, and it didn't agree with us. Do you remember at Christmas when you ate something that didn't agree with you, how ill you were?"

Greer frowned. She did indeed remember that, and even now she didn't remember ever feeling that terrible before, or since.

"Oh, poor, poor Daddy," she said sadly, leaning herself over and popping her long legs out behind her to lie on the bed next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "You must feel just AWFUL."

"Well, I've felt better, Little Love," he said, suddenly feeling exhausted. Greer moved her hand to rest across his chest.

"Shall we have a nap, daddy?" she said, yawning softly as she nuzzled her head against his neck. "I'm so tired and it's time for my nap anyway. You look tired too."

"I think that's a very good idea, Greer," Greg agreed, relieved, as he tilted his face to rest against her hair, somehow finding comfort in that.

Upstairs at 221A, Rosie found herself running back and forth between their flat, Uncle Sherlock's upstairs, and even venturing into the basement flat of 221C to keep an eye on Uncle Greg. While there, she had set Greer up with a small pan of cool water and a wash cloth. She didn't know if it would do Uncle Greg much good or not, but either way it would give Greer something to do that made her feel like she was helping. Besides, Rosie wasn't completely sure that Greer's efforts might be for naught anyway, if Uncle Greg had the same wretched headache her own daddy had.

The general notion that Rosie planned to someday become a nurse like Alex was very nearly common knowledge by now, and Rosie was finding herself in a trial run – emphasis on the "run".

"I think they must be near finished the worst of it," Sally said, as she came downstairs from 221B. "Sherlock didn't get a wink of sleep. I thought the Git was two shades darker than a corpse on a good day. Now he looks like he's died and just forgot to stop breathing," she finished, with a yawn.

Sally winced at the memory of her husband draped over their bed, utterly miserable, after managing to drag his lanky frame up over the edge of it, under what little remained of his own power. Sally was surprised, frankly, that he'd managed to find the strength to move after he had spent the better part of three hours seated on the floor with his legs wrapped around the loo, hunched over the bowl - and this had followed four hours of sleepless tossing and turning. She had stayed up with him for awhile, mopping his fevered brow and, brushing back his dark curls, murmuring soothing words to him.

"S'okay," he had muttered in a nearly unintelligible slurred baritone. "Be fine, jusneed... a min... oh bollocks..." as a fresh wave of nausea overtook him.

Sally had been amazed that the twins hadn't woken up from the ruckus. Then again, when they slept, they slept hard. She was grateful for that, even if it did mean oversleeping and crankiness in the morning. She already had Sherlock to deal with, what were two more children throwing tantrums?

When she finally judged he was safe to go back to bed, she tried dragging her beloved long legged streak of misery, quickly realizing his dead weight was too much for her to budge. For someone so slender, the man was damned heavy. Finally, nudging him to roll over, she managed to coax him to belly crawl. How he managed to get himself up onto the bed was a mystery she'd never be able to solve.

"I love you old plod," he muttered softly, as he opened his eyes briefly, gazing at her with adoring gratitude." Sally sighed, looking at the clock. 6:00 am.

Oh bloody well. "I love you too, Git," she said, as she tucked a blanket over him and kissed his damp temple tenderly. "Sleep now, love."

Alex sighed. John hadn't fared much better himself, spending the majority of the night hugging one of Rosie's oversized pillows, occasionally calling it "Mummy", and leaning over the loo in a fit of culinary regret and unadulterated misery. Alex herself had divided her time between the three flats, supervising Rosie's efforts and making sure everything that needed taking care of was indeed taken care of, grateful that Daniel was at a sound sleeping stage.

In retrospect, John might have guessed that their dining choices might be a bit on the sketchy side, but they were famished and it was late, and the last flying rat's ass they had left to give had just flown away.

John also knew that many food borne illnesses weren't easily detectable by smell or taste.

With these words of little comfort running through his physician's brain, he drifted in and out of sleep. The kink in his back and his near inability to move his arm where it had spent the night propping him upright over the loo seemed the least of his troubles. When it seemed the hurling stage had passed, he had consented to allow Alex and Rosie to prop him up and drag him back to bed, tucking him in carefully but firmly, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was not to get out of bed without their help.

Rosie, much like she'd set Greer up to do, sat beside her dad on the bed, dabbing his forehead with a cool cloth.

"I don't know if this will help much, daddy, but it can't hurt anyway," Rosie said softly. John had opened his eyes, gazing up at his daughter.

"Thanks Little Lamb," he mumbled, smiling weakly before closing his eyes again. "Feels quite nice actually, and yes sweetie, it does help," he managed, drifting back to sleep.

Molly, having gone on the hunt for ginger root tea, finally found some in Sherlock and Sally's kitchen. Just the thing to settle dodgy bellies, she thought to herself. Always worked like a charm on Greg, anyway. Carrying the small box, she headed back down to what had become their muster point in the kitchen at 221A.

"Would you like me to make a pot before I head downstairs?" she asked Sally, as Alex strolled in.

Sally yawned loudly, unable to suppress it. "Sure, why not. Sherlock's finally fast asleep but it'll be ready for him when he wakes up at least. I'm glad he's sleeping. He's going to be an insufferable baby when he's fully awakened and starting to recover in earnest. You'll think he was about to draw his last flamin' breath."

Molly giggled softly. "Greg's quite the opposite. He's going to insist on getting out of bed and getting the hell on with his day, even if he's barely able to stand without collapsing again. It takes quite the effort to keep him in bed when he's ill. Stubborn bloody copper, he is," she shook her head. "I almost think I'd prefer it if he behaved like Sherlock. At least he'd be getting proper rest."

"John is somewhere in the middle, I reckon," Alex said. "He knows he should be in bed but there's truth to the old adage that doctors make lousy patients. Fortunately he still has a soldier's mentality at times. If you issue an order, he just may listen."

"Mummy," Rosie said as she came into the kitchen. "I think maybe they're starting to feel a bit better. They haven't used the fresh buckets we put by their beds yet."

"Well that's good news darling," Alex said, kissing Rosie's blond curls. "Why don't you go nick yourself a little nap with your dad then. I think he'd appreciate it if he woke up and saw you were there." Rosie, unable to hold back her own yawn, nodded silently, leaving to join her dad down the hallway, just as Greer had stretched out with Greg, for a cuddle and a nap.

Alex, Sally, and Molly heaved a collective sigh of relief as Mrs. Hudson wandered in. "Have you seen the potatoes, dear? I can't make soup for my boys without them. I thought we had some somewhere," she muttered.

Alex smiled with gratitude at their elderly landlady and Baker Street house mother as she went to retrieve the small sack from the pantry. "Bought fresh from market yesterday, should be enough I'd think."

Mrs. Hudson nodded and smiled softly in thanks as she set to work.

"I'll have them all set to rights soon enough, you just watch," she promised.

"The sooner the better, I reckon," Sally said with a half smirk.

Alex and Molly shared a knowing look.

"Couldn't possibly agree more," Molly said, shaking her head and turning to leave with her tea.


	75. The Next Level

**The Next Level**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Pre Rosie and Julian_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Julian, Rosie_

* * *

"Mr. Greg," Julian said, crawling up onto the big easy chair Greg liked to relax in, and perching himself on the big cushy arm, "do you suppose I might… well, would it be alright if I… that is…"

"Julian," Greg said patiently, "just spit it out, Little Lad."

"Might I come with you next time you go to the riding stables with Rosa?"

Greg paused midway as he was raising his coffee cup to his lips. His eyes took on a curious expression as his eyebrow rose.

"Well, sure, if it's alright with Rosie of course. Though I can't imagine it wouldn't be. I thought you didn't like horses though," he said, finally taking the sip of his brew.

"Well… honestly Mr. Greg, I don't. I'm actually a bit afraid of them," he said, with a nervous giggle and sounding almost embarrassed. "But as Rosa comes to watch me play football when I know she really doesn't care for it much, I thought it only fair that I give riding a horse a go. At least to see HER ride. It IS only fair, isn't it?" he asked, suddenly seeming uncertain.

"Well," Greg said, bringing a hand up to briefly tousle the young boy's light auburn hair, "I suppose it is only fair. Are you sure about this, Julian? I mean, REALLY sure?"

Julian seemed to hesitate, studying his palms for a moment or two. "Yes," he finally said. "I'm REALLY sure. Besides, I know I shan't have anything to be afraid of with you and Rosa there?"

"Oh, of course not," Greg replied. "Well, I suppose I should take a look into which horse would be suited to you then. Rosie has upgraded herself to Goldie now, but I don't imagine you want to ride on Mugs. I'll call them in the morning and see who they may have who may suit you."

"Oh, THANK you, Mr. Greg," Julian said, leaning over to wrap his arms around him in a hug. "I can't imagine I'll like it any better afterwards but Mummy and Daddy always say I can't TRULY say I don't like something until I've tried it at LEAST once."

"Well, they're right about that, Little Lad," Greg said, chuckling softly.

* * *

The next day, as promised, on his lunch break, Greg called Larkspur Lane Riding Stables and inquired about a suitable horse for Julian.

And thus, the best friend of his niece was matched with a young Morgan mare, just a hand shorter than Goldie, named Miss Marple's Mystery – Misty for short.

When Greg and Rosie, who was attired in her full riding gear – a birthday gift from everyone at Baker Street - pulled up to the townhouse Julian lived in with his parents and baby brother, Julian was fully unprepared for the sight.

He swallowed hard and tried not to gawk as he got into the back seat next to Rosie.

Yes, she was his best friend, and yes, it was common knowledge that he was going to marry her someday. It was just that he hadn't ever seen her outfitted to do something she loved so much.

In a flash, Julian realized why his Mum might like to see his Dad in his footy uniform, and he blushed furiously.

If it was at all possible to develop a raging crush on your best friend, who you already loved and who already loved you, Julian had just solidly managed it.

"So," Greg said from the front seat, "it's about twenty minutes' drive to the stables. I've arranged for our horses already."

"Who do we have, Uncle?" Rosie asked, curiously.

"Well…" Greg said casually, "Julian has a beautiful gentle Morgan mare named Miss Marple's Mystery, she's called Misty for short. Now, she's fifteen hands, so she's smaller than Goldie, but not by much, and I think she'll be well suited."

Rosie smiled and nodded in approval, while Julian simply looked nervously optimistic.

"We also have Pepper and Goldie," Greg said, matter of factly.

Rosie smiled. She'd expected the thoroughbred and the palomino this time, as always.

"I'll be on Goldie," Greg said casually. "Rosie, you'll have Pepper."

Rosie took a moment to absorb this before she gasped loudly. "Oh… UNCLE GREG! I'm riding PEPPER?!"

Greg smiled to himself. He and Rosie had been riding for nearly a year now, and he knew that she was ready to mount the sometimes spirited thoroughbred gelding.

"Yeah, thought you might like to this time," he said. "He reads our moods and I've watched you around him these last few times. You set him at ease, Lass. If I wasn't confident of it, I wouldn't allow it."

Julian watched Rosie in awe, then grinned as she reached over and grabbed his hand. It had become an unconscious habit of hers when she was excited, and while he was accustomed to it, this time, for some reason, it delighted him just a bit more.

* * *

Julian stared up at Misty, not sure if he was afraid, or just… scared absolutely spitless.

Rosie stepped up next to him, taking his hand. "She's GORGEOUS, Jules. Look at her, she's SO gentle."

Julian smiled nervously and swallowed hard. "Oh, I agree she's gorgeous Rosa. And I'm sure she's gentle. But I'd just as soon take your word for it."

"Julian, Lad you know you don't have to do this if you really don't want to," Greg said, crouching down to his level. "You're not to do anything you don't want to. Misty will sense it and she'll react if you're afraid of her."

"No… no Mr. Greg, I'm not afraid. I know I'll be safe, it's just… I'm a bit out of sorts with it all."

"Well, then… how about if we put you in her saddle and walk you around a bit first. Let you get a feel for each other."

Rosie grinned up at Greg, then over to Julian. "I think that's for the best. If Misty is like Pepper and Goldie and even Mugs, she'll know your heart."

Julian started at this. How would a horse react to him suddenly fancying his best friend so fiercely?

"I think I'd like that very much," Julian replied. "I trust you."

"Do you trust your horse?" Greg asked gently.

"I will," the young boy vowed.

Even though it would, not unexpectedly, turn out to be his only time joining Mr. Greg and Rosa on horseback, when Julian mounted on Misty, who huffed and whinnied casually and unconcerned, he slowly found his comfort zone with the gentle Morgan mare. The young boy glanced over at Rosie, who sat upon Pepper, looking utterly ecstatic. He shifted his gaze to Mr. Greg, who was mounted on Goldie, reaching down stroking his neck, murmuring to him calming words.

But ultimately, his undivided focus shifted back to his Rosa, something that didn't go unnoticed by Greg.

Julian was utterly awestruck. Suddenly, inexplicably, his Rosa had become something wondrous and amazing, and she hadn't even done anything different. All she'd done was put on riding gear and hoist herself into Pepper's saddle.

"You're alright, Little Lad?" Greg asked, as he steered Goldie to stand next to Misty.

Julian didn't really hear him, as he whispered softly, "I'm going to marry her someday."

But Greg heard Julian, and he smiled.

* * *

 _How did it go? ~KB_

Greg grinned at the text from Kieran.

 _About how I expected. ~GL_

 _He's terrified? ~KB_

 _No. He's head over heels. ~GL_

 _But he doesn't even like horses. ~KB_

 _Not talking about the horses, Kieran. ~GL_

 _Shit. Next level, Guv? ~KB_

 _Think so. For Julian. ~GL_

 _What about Rosie? ~KB_

 _We'll see next footy match, I reckon. ~Guv_

 _Well in that case then, I saw that much last footy match, Guv. ~KB_

 _Oi. Next level. You tell John or I? ~Guv_

 _You hold rank, Sir. Good luck Guv LMAO ~KB_

 _Bloody hilarious, you are. See you in the morning, Sergeant. ~Boss_


	76. The Nook

**The Nook**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, adults Greer, John, Scott,_ _introducing_ _Josie Doyle_

* * *

Josephine Elizabeth Doyle - best known simply as Josie - a waitress at The Weathered Oak, the preferred pub of the Lestrade family and their extended family, smiled brightly. She had become used to, in fact looked forward to, this family of coppers and medics and doctors and nurses, and all sorts of professions in between, joining up in random combinations in what her and the rest of the staff had come to refer to as The Lestrade Family Nook.

She knew these combinations generally involved one or more of the Lestrades. It might also include a Holmes, and a Donovan on occasion. Definitely a Watson or two quite often, or three, and if a particular Watson or two, then a Bailey of some variety between two generations, now and then.

Tonight, however, the gathering seemed to exclusively involve the family that The Nook was named after.

When John Lestrade arrived, still in his paramedic's uniform – fresh off shift and devoid of any and all patience to go home to the flat he currently shared with his brother to change back into civilian clothing – Josie only needed a single look from him, and him from her, to know what the order was. The earlier arrival of John's sister, Greer, indicated where to deliver the refreshment to.

"Scott will be around shortly this evening?" she asked the stunningly handsome young man, as she arrived with the tray. "Our stoutest stout, Johnnie, and Greer, our neatest neat scotch. Rough day, love?" she asked, as she met John's eyes.

"About average, Joey," he said. "Just tiring, I guess. More losses than successes I reckon is all." He offered an exhausted smile and a half shrug. "It happens."

Josie smiled and nodded, understanding. "Well, focus on the successes then love, and let's hope Scott has had a better shift then, shall we?" she said knowingly, as she reached out and gave his shoulder a quick little squeeze, then placed a second glass in front of a vacant spot in The Nook.

Greer, not having need to change as a detective constable wore civilian clothing, said, "Thanks Josie, yeah. Scott will be here shortly. Oh, and Mum too," she added, suddenly remembering.

"Your dad as well then, Greer?" the astute waitress asked.

"Reckon so, yeah," she said. As Josie turned to take leave of their table, Greer suddenly stopped her. "Oh, and Josie," she said, "thanks so much. You know us so well, you always know what we need."

"You'd be surprised what a simple little waitress knows about her regulars," she said modestly, sparing a glance to John. "My mum served your dad for years, and your Uncles as well. I just picked up where she left off, is all," she laughed softly.

"I wonder if she realizes how good she really is?" John said, almost absently, as he sipped at the pint he'd been served, perfectly, on the instincts of a pub waitress.

"Doubt it," Greer said. "She does what she does, just like we do. I get the feeling she really does love her job though, don't you?"

John hummed in agreement as he took a sip, just before his eyes moved upwards to greet his twin brother and their dad.

"Your mum will be along shortly," Greg said, as Josie suddenly re-appeared, with a serving of scotch for Greg – like father like daughter, and vice versa – and a pale ale for Scott. Smiling at the near-complete group, Josie placed a glass of Australian Shiraz at the lone remaining vacant spot, before sneaking a look at John.

"Intense, but ladylike, just like Molly," Josie commented, as she stood back. "Right then," she smiled, "will there be anything else?"

The family seated glanced at her warmly, before John spoke up. "No, thanks Joey. You're wonderful as always. We'll let you know, hey?"

Josie nodded at the handsome young man. What luck, she had always thought, to have a night like this with three blokes as fetching as that.

But, something in John, in particular, stirred about the pretty young waitress, who knew them so well.

If John were honest with himself, that little something had been stirring for a while now, too.

Were Josie to also be honest with _herself_ , she might have admitted that yes, she could tell the difference between the Lestrade boys, and knew John from Scott by her heart alone.

When Molly arrived, her wine pre-swirled by Scott, she slid into her spot next to Greg. Their children pretended to study various things – the well-worn oak grain on their table, the size of the crowd that evening (with whispered, deliberately and passive commentary between Greer and Scott to that effect), John seemed to study Josie's particular chosen hairstyle that day – while Molly and Greg greeted each other in their customary way.

When their three grown children judged that the snog-fest had gone on long enough, Greer, ever no-nonsense, stepped in.

"So, Dad," she said, drumming her fingernails on her glass.

Awkward silence ensued.

"Daddy?" she said, a bit louder.

"MUM. Get a damn GRIP, will ya? NO, NO, not on DAD, that's NOT what I meant! Oh... HELL."

Her protestations sat utterly ignored.

Greer shared raised eyebrows of embarrassed amusement with her twin brothers.

"MUM! DAD! Hey, get a bloody room already, before I arrest you both for public indecency," she finally said, giving her dad a gentle kick under the table.

"Sorry darling," Molly said, not really sorry in the least. "It's been a long day and I needed this. Well not just… THIS," she said, nodding to her smugly satisfied looking husband. "I mean, THIS," she said, waving her hand around the table.

"Fair enough Mum," John said. "So, let the Lestrade Family Debriefing commence. Best and worst of your day. Who's first?"

"Ladies first," Greg said, deflecting.

"Beauty before age," Molly said, quickly realizing too late that her sons looked exactly like Greg, and that left her and Greer – who, aside from her eyes and her height, looked exactly like her.

"AGELESS beauty first," Greer said, sipping her scotch. "Spill it my gorgeous Mum," she said with a wink towards her dad, who simply raised an eyebrow in agreement.

Molly smiled, then blushed, then sipped her wine.

"Right then," she finally said. "Best of the day. Well, I completed four exams, that must be some sort of record, and all of them were natural cause. I was able to set a few hearts at ease today. Well… as at ease as they can be in the face of loss. It's always better when they know nothing could have prevented it. Not that that makes it any easier of course. "

Greg slid his arm around Molly, giving her a squeeze. "Your worst, then, Love?"

"My worst," Molly said, clearing her throat. "Well I suppose that would have to be the third exam. A beautiful little girl, only eight years old. She collapsed on the playground at school. Turns out she had a congenital heart defect."

Silence fell over the table for a few moments, as Greg pulled Molly just a bit closer, leaning into her.

"Well then," Scott said. "Who's next."

"I maintain ladies first," Greg said, as Molly elbowed him gently.

"Right then, since you blokes are so bloody insistent," Greer said. "I like to start with my worst as always because it won't put a damper on my best. Always was a bad news first if you please sort of girl," she grinned. Her dad and brothers shared a look. That was their Greer in a nutshell. Always did want to save the best for last.

Greer took a breath. "Okay. My worst."

"We attended a domestic. Didn't end well, it was a murder-suicide situation," she said grimly. She took a pull from her glass. "Julian warned me ahead of time as usual," she continued. She glanced at her dad with a short smile. "Sorry. Detective Inspector Bailey."

"We're off duty, Little Love. Familiarities are allowed." Greg said softly.

"So yeah, then. Julian gave me a heads up, and it was ugly. The husband had put up a struggle, you just knew he didn't want to die. We found clear evidence of self-defense."

The table fell silent, as John glanced over at his baby sister.

"BUT," she said, clearing her throat roughly, "there was a little boy who managed to survive it all. God only knows how but he did. He clung to me as if I were the only person in the world who could keep him safe in that moment," she said, her voice wavering. "That was my best, right there. That beautiful little boy. Oh that baby lad's got a long road ahead of him, but he's grandparents to look after him and love him. And I gave them my card too. Just in case."

"Yeah," John said, clearing his voice, looking into his pint for a moment.

"Best and worst today. Same as Greer. Our unit attended the scene and well… it was as she said."

"Are you going to tell them how you took the little lad from me when your unit arrived then, and held him just as tight, big brother?" Greer asked, gently.

"Didn't think it was strictly necessary. His name is Kevin, by the way. The little lad." John paused, then said with a bitter laugh, "Times like this I wish we could follow up and keep track. But of course that's not practical."

Scott, taking a cue, motioned Josie. As he waited, he said, "Well, my best and worst aren't near as heavy." His parents and siblings all looked at him expectantly.

"Best today," Scott said, as Josie arrived and she shared a particular look with John, "my unit attended a scene that was at best hilarious and at worst, a horrible meeting of coincidence."

The ears seated in The Nook perked up.

"So picture this, family," Scott said. "a soon to be ex-wife calls in because she's trapped in the spare bedroom. Her lover has managed to lose the keys to the cuffs. Not sure I need to elaborate further," he says, taking a pull from his ale.

"The now soon-to-be ex-husband, though now we're not sure he's aware of this just THEN, is found in the rather large walk-in closet in the master bedroom. Apparently they'd had a little afternoon delight quickie. Then the doorbell rang. Apparently the husband arrived home early from shift and wasn't expected by… shall we say a _certain_ visiting party, to be home for another two hours."

Greer snorted loudly, right behind Greg, who quickly cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, he did come out of the closet, thanks to us. And a set of bolt cutters. Because the bloody cuffs she was using used the same sodding keys!"

"I'm guessing this didn't end well then," Molly said, giggling helplessly against Greg's shoulder.

"Well, it did for the husband. Not so much for the soon to be ex-wife," Scott chuckled.

"And your worst, brother?" John asked, the first to regain composure.

"Well… it was one of those blessed days where there wasn't actually a worst. They're few and far between. I'm grateful for it today. Next debriefing might be different but I'll enjoy this one while it lasts," he said, raising his glass. "So I guess the real best of my day was that there wasn't a worst."

Scott's parents, his twin, and his sister, clinked glasses in agreement.

"So," Greer said. "Daddy, this leaves you. Your best and worst today."

"Report came across my desk. DI Bailey's team," Greg said, sharing a somber look with Greer, and then John. "That one was my worst. But my best," he continued, glancing to his daughter, "besides little Kevin, was Donovan's team. Sally met me for unofficial debriefing after shift. Apparently there had been a small traffic accident, involving two senior citizens."

Greg took a sip of his single malt before continuing.

"Apparently they ran a traffic light and very nearly caused an accident. Now before anyone points out that traffic isn't my division, or Sally's either for that matter, it had been initially believed that they had caused a near fatality, deliberately."

Greg suppressed a hearty chuckle as he concluded. "Turns out, the wife had been driving and the husband had been in the process of copping a bit of a feel, which obviously distracted her. BUT," he continued, "the alleged victim apparently has made a bit of a career out of false litigation claims. Donovan's team had it sorted in short order. And by the way, the wife has a clean driving record, she's probably more competent behind the wheel than most half her age."

"Sounds to me like they're just as frisky as most half their age as well, darling," Molly said, stealing a quick kiss from Greg.

Josie re-appeared suddenly, offering refills and inquiring how they were doing.

"Seriously brother?" Scott prodded his twin, whispering softly.

"She fancies you and don't tell us you don't fancy her," Greer whispered, as quietly as possible.

"Oh come on. She's just being friendly with her customers, is all." John protested, blushing fiercely.

Greer shared a look with her parents. "Bullshit," she finally said. "She's being friendly with YOU. So ASK her already!"

John glared at her before allowing his look to soften.

When the activity in the pub had slowed, and Josie had next visited them, John finally asked, "So, Joey," blushing slightly. "We have a bit of a thing in The Nook. Your best and worst of the day. So sit down lass, take a bit of a load off while you can, and tell us. Your best and worst today."

Josie blushed furiously then focused on John. "Well I suppose I do have a few moments," she admitted, smiling bashfully, sitting down cautiously beside him.

"So, I guess I can tell you then," she continued.

Josie wouldn't realize it for a long while yet, but she had just submitted membership and been approved unanimously, for a spot in The Lestrade Family Nook.


	77. A Rite of Passage

**_A Rite of Passage_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, John and Josie, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Adult Greer_

* * *

DCI Greg Lestrade stormed into the A&E, warrant card in hand.

"Detective Chief Inspector Greg Lestrade," he said, identifying himself and flashing his warrant card. "I believe you have a patient here who not only falls under my authority with the Met, but is also my daughter," he said, curtly.

The nurse at the nursing station hardly blinked. This stormy DCI was hardly the first boss she'd had come in when an incident had brought a young copper in for emergency treatment.

It was rare, however, that the boss was also a parent of the patient.

"Right," she said calmly. "Chief Inspector Lestrade, your girl is this way. Be warned," she said knowingly, "she's protesting quite colourfully to hell and back that it's only a flesh wound and we're being ridiculous sodding dolts for keeping her here."

Greg suppressed a smile at the seasoned nurse. "Her words?"

The nurse met Greg's eyes briefly and rose an eyebrow. "Mine. Softened quite a lot. Hers are a bit more..."

This time, Greg did let a snort through. "A bit more Greer. She suffers no fool gladly, it's what makes her a capital copper, and a right huge pain in the ass on duty, and my daughter through and through."

"Well then," the nurse said with a crooked grin. "Remind me never to piss either of you off should either of you wind up under my watch again. She's right in here," she said, opening a door and gesturing with her arm.

"Thank you, Nurse…" Greg said, checking her uniform pin, "Vertue."

Greg stopped, giving her an amused look.

"Really?"

Nurse Vertue merely smiled. "Really. It's an irony I must live with every single day, I'm afraid. I'll not tell you what my first name is," she said.

"It's bloody PATIENCE," Greer shouted, clearly pissed off. "Which I have precious little of left, thank you very sodding MUCH!"

"Tell me that's pain medication talking?" Greg asked, hopefully.

"Nope," Nurse Vertue said. "Patience Vertue. That's my name. My parents ought to have been tarred and feathered for that," she said bitterly, as she left father and daughter by themselves, her parting words a simple, "your girl stoutly refused pain meds. That's her in the raw. Good luck Chief Inspector, though I suspect by the looks of you, she takes after you so you won't be needing it."

Greg smiled after the departing nurse, only briefly reaching out to grasp her arm in acknowleged gratitude, before slowly turning his gaze upon his daughter.

"So, you've been stabbed in the line of duty, I'm told."

"Ruined my favourite work blouse too, the minky feckin' bastard," Greer pouted angrily. "At least he's been arrested and charged."

Greg checked his texts. "Yes. Arrested for aggravated assault of a peace officer, after, it seems, he was tackled by a Detective Constable with a massive grudge resulting from a deep stab wound."

"The son of a bitch had it coming," Greer said, wincing. "Might I speak freely, Sir?"

"Well I'm fairly certain you have already, Little Love, but I'm not here as your superior just now. I'm here as your Dad," Greg said quietly.

"It's really not that bad, Daddy," Greer said, sighing. "Honestly, it's just superficial. I'm just disappointed in myself, is all. I know I'm only a Detective Constable, but I've still come a bloody long way in a shorter time than average."

"Greer, Little Love, there is NO such thing as ONLY a Detective Constable. That rank holds a lot of accomplishment and hard work behind it. It also means you've been judged to have exceptional investigative skills and you've proven it by passing the courses to achieve it. It's nothing to brush off just because you're pissed off that a suspect had the upper hand only JUST long enough to wound you."

"It isn't just that, Dad. It's that… well not only did I let myself get wounded, but I lost control. I tackled the feckin' wanker and it was pure adrenaline. I'm not a rookie uniform anymore, I'm better than that, I bloody well KNOW it."

Greg let a few silent moments pass by, before finally speaking.

"Do you remember when you were around 12 years old, and we went on vacation to Canada?"

"Yeah," Greer said. "Saskatchewan, it was. Still can hardly pronounce it but oh, Daddy, it was gorgeous. More trees in that northern half of the province than the whole of England even knows, I'm sure. What did they call it, Dad?"

"Lake and bush country, I believe was the local phrasing. The southern edge of the Boreal region, forests, and lakes, and wide open spaces, and we were there just in time to see those glorious sunflower yellow fields of canola in full bloom that your mum fell in love with the sight of."

"Yeah," she said, wistfully. "She called it earthbound sunshine. I'd love to go back again someday. Maybe when Sam and I are on honeymoon."

Greg paused at this, wincing at the idea of his little girl a married woman. Quickly, he brushed it off.

"Anyway, Little Love," Greg said, "we were at that lake resort… what was it called?"

"Moonlight Bay, I believe, Dad," Greer said, thoughtfully.

"Yeah, that was it. Moonlight Bay. Anyway, you noticed a scar on my side at the beach and you questioned it. And that's when I told you that sometimes a copper faces peril on the job, and that was from a day when I faced it, and survived it. Believe me, I was just as pissy as you are now when that happened. I was all adrenaline and ego and attitude that day."

Greer pouted momentarily. "And I'm all adrenaline and ego and attitude right now?"

"Well," Greg said casually, "I'm not in your head so I'm not to judge where you're coming from, Greer. But I'd say, that's a closely accurate assessment."

"Hurts like a bitch, Daddy," Greer said, as Greg wrapped an arm around her and she leaned into him for comfort.

"Yeah, I've no doubt it does, Little Love. The important thing is, you need to realize that we might have worked our asses off to get to where we are, we may have achieved ranks that not every average copper is cut out for, but we are still human, with human failings, and human tempers."

"And human frailties. I understand Daddy. I'll be better next time, won't I," she said, not really asking.

"Don't rightly know. I hope so, but time will tell."

"Yeah, I guess it will," Greer said. "So, it's Saturday. Mum has dinner handled?"

"If you've appetite for it, yeah. I believe John will have Josie there as well."

Greer smiled at this. "About bloody time he had that girl over for dinner," she said, before she winced with pain. "Oh sod it Daddy…" she muttered as her breath was taken away. "Seems my adrenaline is wearing off, oh this bloody hurts."

Greg said nothing, knowing this was merely a rite of passage for his daughter. He'd endured it. So had Kieran, and Julian, and now it was Greer's turn.

"You're alright, my girl," Greg whispered reassuringly. "Give yourself a few days and you'll be back to yourself. God help us all," he said.

Greer frowned, then gave her dad a sharp elbow to the ribs.

"Smartass," she muttered, even as she smiled. "With all due respect Daddy Sir, of course."

"Of course," Greg grinned.


	78. Josie's Fella

**Josie's Fella**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Romance, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Johnnie and Josie, Greg and Molly, Greer and Sam, background_

 _ **Main characters:**_ _Johnnie and Josie_

* * *

John Lestrade, having had a good shift with his EMS unit, took the time to go home to change before meeting up with Josie at The Weathered Oak.

Josie, for her part, had finished her own shift with a light heart and an easy smile for her customers. A few of her regulars noticed the shine in her eyes and the glow in her cheeks.

"Have a fella now, do ya lass?" a Scotland Yard Police Sergeant asked. "Ah, you've got that glow. The one that says you're in love. I see it in my own wife when I come home. Bloody blessed bloke I am." Josie simply smiled bashfully at him in response, before asking if he needed another round.

"Even prettier than usual, love," the pediatric nurse commented. "You've always a smile for us but lately lass, you're radiant." At him, again, Josie simply smiled, blushing.

"That's him, is it?" one of the last customers of her shift commented with a smile and a wink, as she nodded towards John, headed towards The Nook. This one was a grandmotherly type, a retired veterinarian, always came in for a pint first then a cup of their very best coffee. "I know, I'm a contradiction. Just can't beat the service here though," she had said with a smile.

Josie couldn't deny it. "Yeah," she said shyly, as she swiped the bar with a cleaning cloth. "That's my fella."

"Well he's a right bloody fox," the older woman had said. "Well done dear. We should all be as lucky as I was with my Stan. And you are with your young lad."

"Well Beth," Josie said, "You're my last customer of shift. I'll be joining him in a few."

"A gal couldn't even call him _handsome_ , Josie," Beth said, nearly whispering in the busy pub. "He's past that, he's actually _beautiful_. That's rare in a man, let me say."

Josie giggled. "Yeah. Well believe it or not, he's an identical twin, and they both look exactly like their dad. If he's any indication, they won't lose a bit of it with age."

Beth honestly gasped. "THREE of them, then? Sod it, Jo, I was born far too early!"

Josie grinned with mischief. "Probably," she said, as John caught her eyes.

When she had officially clocked out, with a smile and a hug to Beth, Josie had picked up her own drink – a glass of merlot, and one for John, a pint of imported amber ale, and joined her beloved in The Nook.

John greeted her by standing up, as a true gentleman should, and kissing her as much as he dared in that very public setting.

"Good shift, then?" Josie asked him, sighing happily as her feet thanked her for the first time in eight hours.

"Better than average," John said, smiling. "One emergency childbirth in the back of the ambulance, a gorgeous healthy little boy and a really surprised mum," he laughed. "Strong one, she was. Hardly blinked twice. Just popped him out casual as you please! Then there was a cardiac arrest we managed to bring back en route. Near as I know he's stablilized in hospital."

"I can tell, you know," Josie said, snuggling up to him and smiling to herself as his arm found its way around her. "That you've had a good shift."

"Oh?" John asked, giving her a squeeze and a leisurely peck to her temple.

"Yeah," Josie said. "For one thing, you took the time to go home and change. For another you're drinking amber ale, and you only do that to treat yourself when you've had a really good day. You're like Scott, darling. Your order reflects your mood."

"YOU reflect my mood," John said, looking her in the eyes. "No matter what, knowing I get to finish a day with you is enough to end it on a good note."

"Well still," she said, giggling softly, "I can tell."

"Yeah," John admitted. "I reckon you can. So, my beautiful girl," he said. "Plans are for the usual Lestrade Family Debriefing this evening, and probably wedding plans with mum and Greer. I know you're a bridesmaid but I'm sure you won't miss much just yet," he said, sneaking a leisurely kiss. "Scott knows we may not be in attendance. You know, Love," he said, as he pulled away, gazing at her adoringly with a gleam in his dark brown eyes, "Scott and Greer here at the Oak with mum and dad means the flat is to ourselves, if we wish."

"Are you asking if we wish?" Josie said mischievously.

"I suppose I am, yeah," John said, studying his glass with deliberate attention, before turning back to her with a crooked smile.

"Well then, I think we wish," she said, stretching her neck up to meet his kiss. "As for the debriefing… I suspect we can text that in. I doubt we'll be missed."

"Pretty sure they'll all understand, and approve," John whispered, as he kissed her back.


	79. Good Enough

**Good Enough**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Romance, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, background, Johnnie and Josie_

 ** _Main characters: Greg,_** _Adults Johnnie, Greer, Josie_

* * *

Greg studied his oldest son, peering at him over his pint of imported amber ale.

John seemed lost in thought, worried almost.

"So," Greg said, casually, glancing over at the doorway. Greer was due to join them any time now.

"Penny for your thoughts, Son?"

John said nothing, and Greg watched as his gaze drifted over towards Josie, busy taking drink and food orders.

"Was thinking I'd leave your mother for Uncle Mycroft," Greg said. "Turns out he's got a thing for men who bench press Irish Setters. Once they've been sedated of course. That's only if the fainting goats are unavailable, obviously… they sedate themselves, you know."

John blinked, turning to his dad.

"Sorry, what? Uncle Mycroft? Very funny, Dad. If ever there was an utterly asexual being, it's got to be Uncle Mycroft. Although he does love us all in his own way… the man's got the romantic sense of a pile of bricks." John trailed off, his attention once again drifting.

"But, you were paying attention, I gather?"

John sighed, and Greg noted discontent in his son's breath.

"Yeah, I guess I was. Sorry, Dad. I guess I'm just worried… about Joey. That she's not truly happy being with me."

"Son, have you been paying attention at ALL when she looks at you? It's the same look I get from your mother. The same look Uncle Sherlock gets from Aunt Sally, that Uncle John gets from Aunt Alex."

"Yes… and that Rosie gets from Julian, Greer gets from Sam. I know Dad. She just doesn't seem as happy as she was when we first started seeing each other, is all."

Both men looked up as Greer suddenly joined them, with Josie close behind to take her order.

"My usual, Jose," Greer said, smiling warmly. "Followed by YOURS, I do hope you'll be joining us when your shift ends?"

Josie looked at John, worried longing in her eyes. "Well, actually, I…" she trailed off.

"Oh don't be silly, dear lass," Greg said, taking a cue from Greer. "Of course you're joining us. It won't be a full on Lestrade Family Debriefing but most of us will be here at least. You've what, 15 minutes left to shift? Order a bite from the kitchen and grab a drink, my treat. Join us then and our Debriefing may commence."

Josie met Greg's eyes, and something in them set her at ease. There was an older, wiser understanding in them, even though they were essentially the same eyes she gazed into when she was with John. In John's eyes, lately, was worry and apprehension.

"Alright then. How could I refuse two such devastatingly handsome blokes. A lass would have to be touched in the head, wouldn't she?"

"Damned right she would be," Greer said, laughing lightly. "Come now," she said, suddenly rising to her feet. "Let me walk you to the bar. I think I'd like to check out the drinks menu and maybe order my food."

Greer gave a pointed look to Greg, who merely smiled in acknowledgement – something that did not go unnoticed by John.

When the two women had gone out of earshot, Greg turned to his son. "No worries Johnnie. Your sister's got it handled. Greer is a daddy's girl and she takes after me, but she's got your mum's heart through and through, and her woman's intuition."

"Makes her a kickass copper, doesn't it Dad," John said, smiling thoughtfully. "Scott and I learned years ago not to piss her off. She's the best of you and Mum, I reckon."

"So are you and Scott," Greg said.

Over at the bar, Greer perused the small food menu, finally deciding on a cold beef sandwich with a side of chips. She made sure to take her time, so as to fritter away as much of Josie's remaining time on the clock as possible.

When she glanced up at the clock, gesturing to Josie, the young waitress closed her eyes with a tired, relieved smile.

"Come on, Sister," Greer said gently, carrying her drink and Josie's as well, and parking at a vacant table.

"What's wrong, love?"

Josie said nothing for several minutes, while Greer waited patiently, munching on her sandwich.

Finally, she spoke. "It's just that… well sometimes I don't feel as though I'm… I don't know. GOOD enough for John."

Greer, washing down a bite, nearly choked on her scotch.

"GOOD ENOUGH? Oh my God Jose, what the hell are you talking about? You're more than good enough love, you're bloody PERFECT."

Josie blushed furiously, and averted her eyes. Greer blanched suddenly.

"Oh, I'm sorry… heart got in front of my head again. Got to work on that, seriously I do…" Greer said, reaching out her hands to grasp Josie's.

"What I MEAN is, why would you think that, ever?"

"I'm just a waitress. I serve drinks and food, and I clean up tables and I wash dishes in the kitchen when it's quiet and… just… I don't know."

"You mean, you're just working class, with a better work ethic than anyone I know apart from my own family."

Greer paused, with a sigh, hoping and praying that she'd say what she mean properly the first try. "Jose, you do a job that takes dedication and heart because it isn't always easy, and for better or for worse, it's always exhausting. And it takes a hell of a lot of wisdom and attention to detail, and some days are wretched while others are just bloody fantastic and put you over the moon."

"Never thought of it that way, Greer," Josie said softly.

"Yeah, well I also just described what John does as a paramedic, Scott too. What Daddy does as a copper. What I do as a copper too, and Julian. What Mum does as a pathologist. What Rosie does as a registered nurse."

Josie averted her gaze, before moving it over towards her beloved John.

"I could go on and on, you know," Greer said softly, squeezing Josie's hands. "But I hope I don't have to. John loves you for you, and he doesn't consider himself better than you because he did a bit of training to do what he does. If anything, you keep him sane and give him reason to look forward to the end of the day."

As Greer and Josie had their woman-to-woman, Greg and his oldest son had their man-to-man.

"I suspect Josie is feeling a bit insecure at the moment," Greg said, as he navigated his fork around the mountain of chips on the side of his plate.

"Insecure? Why would she feel insecure?" John said, as he considered his burger and the best way to approach it.

"Josie is a pub waitress. Now, I know to us that means she's working class like us, but to her, she probably considers herself to be less educated and less worthy. She undervalues what she does in light of what WE do, Son."

"Undervalues? That's the most ridiculous sodding thing I've heard all week, Dad!" John declared, setting down his food. "Not just anybody can do what Joey does, and do it so well," he said, almost resentfully.

"Well, YOU know that, John. And I know that, and so does Greer, if what I'm observing from here is any indication. But does Josie know that?"

"We need to have a little heart to heart, don't we then?" John said, suddenly smiling. "Make sure we're on the same page."

"Would be wise, I reckon," Greg simply said, as he prepared himself to blissfully bite into his sandwich.

"Though I suspect your sister has made sure Josie knows where to meet you in the index," he said.

John chewed his mouthful thoughtfully, then swallowed. He washed it down with a pull of his ale then said, "You're probably right, as usual, Dad. Say, would you mind if Joey and I took leave a bit early this evening? I think we've got a bit of chat due."

"Agreed, Lad," he said, as he suddenly rose to his feet to hug Josie, who had finally returned with Greer.

John, seeing his Joey back, rose to his feet as well, and embraced her as warmly and lovingly as he knew how to, kissing her softly and whispering to her, "I love you, my beautiful, perfect girl."

Josie blushed and smiled, but as she sat down, Greer and Greg both knew that their messages had indeed been heard, and heeded.


	80. Stakeout

**Stakeout**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, Adventure_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Greer, Sherlock, John_

* * *

"Daddy," Greer said softly, leaning into her dozing father's ear in the dark bedroom, "there are funny noises outside of my bedroom window, and strange shadows on my wall."

Greg, who had just managed to fall asleep with his arms draped over Molly, after a long shift that involved several hours of overtime, groaned inwardly as he opened his eyes.

"Daddy, did you hear me?"

"Yes, Little Love," he said thickly, as his consciousness fully returned in the darkness of the bedroom. "I heard you." Sighing, he tried, failing, to remove his arms from Molly without waking her up. Molly rolled over, squinting as dim light from the hallway spilled in.

"Greer? What's wrong darling?" Molly asked, concerned.

"Funny noises and strange shadows, Mummy," Greer said, crawling up onto the bed to snuggle up to Greg. "They've been there since the night Morrie and Toby snuck out."

"But Greer," Greg said, pulling his daughter up closer towards him and Molly, "they snuck out four nights ago. Are you telling me you've heard noises and seen odd things all week?"

Molly glanced at Greg, concerned. Though their flat was the basement of Mrs. Hudson's house, their windows still sat above ground level, and as such, their daughter's window was more than accessible to intruders, should they desire to break in.

"Yes. What are they daddy? They're beginning to scare me," she said, her voice small, almost embarrassed to make the admission.

"How about if I go take a look then?" Molly said, swinging her legs off the bed and rising out from under the covers. "I'm sure it's nothing to be frightened of, sweetheart. You stay here with Daddy, and I'll be right back." She leaned back over the bed, placing a soft kiss on her daughter's head.

"Now, Little Love, what sort of noises are you hearing?" Greg asked gently, as he held her close. "Does it sound like anything you've ever heard before?"

"Scratching and such, and sounds like when Johnnie and Scottie are playing outside in the autumn, when there are leaves in the yard."

That made sense to Greg, given the shadows, and the time of the year. The street light shone into Greer's bedroom window and anything outside of her window would cast high shadows on her wall.

"Are there any other noises?" he pressed, as Greer wrapped her arms even more tightly around him.

"Yipping noises, like when Maisie is asleep and dreaming."

That was odd, Greg thought. But he was sure it could be explained easily enough.

He looked up as Molly returned to the room. Silently, she shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, indicating she was just as perplexed as they were.

"Whatever it was must be gone, darling," she said, as she crawled back under the covers. "Perhaps Daddy can check into it tomorrow, on his day off?"

"Or perhaps we can check into it together, Greer?" Greg suggested softly. He looked up at Molly and cocked his head as his wife's face seemed to light up with an idea.

"Well perhaps you and Greer can have a stakeout, try to catch whatever has been making noises and shadows in the act?"

Greg smiled crookedly. Trust Molly to come up with an idea like that. No doubt about it, Greg thought to himself, he had married a bloody brilliant woman.

"Well, I think that's a fantastic idea," Greg said. "What do you think, Little Love? Should we go on a stakeout tomorrow evening? You and I?"

Greer seemed to think about this for a few moments. "I think I'd like that, Daddy."

"Well," Molly said, yawning, "how about we work out the details in the morning then. Would you like to go back to your own bed Greer? Or would you prefer to stay here with myself and Daddy?"

Greg shared a smirk with his wife. They both knew that question was a mere formality.

"Right here, Mummy, please? Would you cuddle me too?"

Molly smiled as she slid back under the covers, holding them up as Greg maneuvered himself and Greer to more of a recline. Rolling over towards them, she draped her arm around her daughter, snuggling close, while Greg brought a hand up to hold hers, interlacing their fingers. Before either of them had a chance for that final heavy sigh before attempting to go back to sleep, the soft gentle snoring of their small daughter told them that all would be well for the rest of the night.

* * *

"Right, then, Police Constable Greer," Greg said, sounding serious and official. "Have we everything we need for this assignment?"

Molly stood back, smiling. She truly hoped this impromptu plan would do the trick to set their little girl at ease in her own bedroom. The whole point of a stakeout with Greer involved was to let her see for herself what was causing the ruckus outside her window at night.

"Torches, binoculars, Detective Inspector Daddy," Greer said solemnly. "Radios to stay in touch with Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John and Mummy. Bagged lunches. Did Mummy remember Uncle John's special biscuits?"

"I most certainly did, sweetheart," Molly said. "Ginger nuts and oatmeal biscuits with coconut, just the way you like them. He made them special today just for your stakeout with Daddy. And I also remembered your coffee."

Greg inwardly sighed. Greer loved coffee. Ever since she was a toddler, she loved the smell of it, and the moment he had, with what wasn't a small amount of trepidation, allowed her to take a sip of his, she had fallen in love with it utterly. Molly kept a small stash of decaffeinated coffee on hand just for Greer's little cravings – which, mercifully, weren't too frequent just yet.

"And I have the car ready for us outside," Greg said, having brought his own patrol car home for the purpose on both Sally and Kieran's suggestion.

"Good luck then, my loves" Molly said, crouching down to kiss Greer's cheek. Standing up, she gave Greg a slightly more involved kiss. "Here's to hoping this is sorted before everyone's bedtime then," she winked.

Once in the car, Greer fell to silence, concentrating on peering through her binoculars. Greg kept a sideways glance on her as he smiled to himself. He could well imagine her following in his footsteps someday. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that, but he also knew that all indications pointed towards his daughter growing into a woman who would not suffer fools gladly, and would not be pushed around. Already, his Little Love was a force to be reckoned with. Her brothers knew better than to make her mad, though they rarely did anything to honestly achieve that. Greer adored Greg most of all, but that didn't mean she didn't also love her Mum and her brothers fiercely. It would take massive sins on the parts of her beloved big brothers to truly upset her.

Greg's radio toned. It was Sherlock, who had, surprisingly and no doubt under threat from Sally, agreed to play along. "Inspector Daddy," Greg answered.

"Deputy Detective Uncle Sherlock here," the deep baritone came through. Greg could well imagine Sally egging him on with a glare. "We may have a problem. Be advised that Morrie and Toby have once again snuck out. Evidence suggests they may have been doing this every evening for the past week."

"Explain please, Deputy Uncle?" Greer said, her sweet small voice carrying through.

Sally, inside 221B, had to stop a giggle. It was possibly the most adorable thing she'd heard in several days. Sherlock, smiling sideways at her, played along, now utterly charmed himself.

"It would appear, Constable Greer, that the main door to 221 Baker Street has not been latching properly. I believe the feline elements have had an accomplice in the form of one very naughty pocket beagle who goes by the alias of Maisie Lestrade."

"I believe you're mistaken Deputy Uncle," Greg cut in. "The rogue beagle is not, in fact, a Lestrade. Her papers indicate she's a Holmes. This is on the record, though she may also go under the aliases of Maisie Lestrade and Maisie Watson. Rarely though not unknown, Maisie Hudson."

"Semantics, Inspector Daddy," Sherlock retorted. "In any case, Morrie and Toby have been going on the lam with Maisie's assistance."

"Deputy Uncle John here," John cut in. "I'm observing movement on the north side of 221B through the window. I believe it to be suspicious in nature as it does NOT appear to be exclusively feline."

"Noted, Deputy Uncle John," Greg said, peering over at Greer. His young daughter had taken on a gravely serious expression, completely absorbed in their mission.

"Deputy Mummy here," Molly chimed in. "I'm confirming the sighting. I see three distinct individuals outside scampering about in front of Constable Greer's bedroom window."

Greer moved her gaze towards the window she knew Uncle John and Mummy to be speaking of, bringing her binoculars up to her eyes.

She watched for a moment, and then gasped loudly. "Oh, DADDY!"

Greg started, concerned, then brought his own up to take a look. Seeing what his daughter had spotted, he grinned broadly.

"That, Little Love, is a fox. Do you see what he's doing?"

Greer was silent for several moments. "It looks like he's playing with Morrie and Toby!"

"Deputy Uncle John, Deputy Mummy, what are you seeing right now through the window?" Greg asked through the radio. "Constable Greer is reporting play time between a small fox and our two feline suspects."

"Copy that, Inspector Daddy," John replied. "Confirming sighting of one small fox scampering, wrestling, and snuzzling Morrie and Toby."

"Agreed," Molly said through the radio. "I'm seeing the same thing from my location."

"I'll be damned," Sherlock was heard muttering softly.

"Little Love, do you know what this means?" Greg asked softly, when Sherlock, John, and Molly had signed off.

Greer, her dark brown eyes huge, shook her head.

"This means that Morrie and Toby have a playmate, but most importantly, foxes are territorial. Do you know what that means?"

"No, Daddy. Not really… is a territory a… home?"

"In a sense, yes, Little Love," Greg said. "This little fox has claimed this place as his home, which means that no other foxes will dare challenge him for it. And since he's obviously made friends with Morrie and Toby, that means that no other foxes will ever try to bother them, unless something happens to him."

"So then, the strange noises and shadows were just him playing with Morrie and Toby?" she asked, her little voice hopeful.

"I think so, yeah. Nothing to worry about, it's just our cats outside playing with their new friend, is all."

"He needs a name then, Daddy," Greer said, happily. "What shall we name him?"

"I'm not rightly sure," Greg said. "But as it's past your bedtime, and mine as well, suppose we sleep on it and discuss this tomorrow at dinner, when I'm home from work?"

"I LOVE that idea, Daddy," Greer said, with a relieved sigh. "I think I might sleep in my OWN bed tonight, if that's alright?"

Greg held back a snicker. "Of course, if you wish, I think that's a grand idea."


	81. Home

**Home**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Mild Romance, Friendship, combination present day and future fic_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, background, pre-Greer and Sam_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Greer (present day child and future adult both),_ _introucing Sam McTavish, childhood friend to Greer and eventual love interest_

* * *

Greer thought her heart might break on the spot.

Samuel Jameson McTavish – her closest and most treasured friend second only to Ciana Anderson - was set to move with his family to Canada.

Samuel, for his part, was no more happy about the move than Greer was. But, it was what it was, and in this day and age they had emails, and Skype, and all such manner of ways, to keep in touch.

Greer wasn't convinced, however. Nothing could replace having Sam there in person.

"Daddy, I'll miss him so," she sobbed, as Greg held his girl closely. "Canada is SO far way, and it's so BIG. Even if we WERE to try to visit, how EVER would we even FIND him?"

Greg's heart cracked a bit at his Little Love's heartbreak, but he wasn't quite sure how to reassure her when she was so determined to be sad.

"Greer, I PROMISE you, one day soon, we'll visit them in Canada. Saskatchewan seems a far off place but it's quite beautiful from what I'm told, especially where Sam is moving to. Where he's going, the towns and villages aren't that close together. Why, they're MILES apart Little Love. They're quite easy to find on a map, and while we travel, there are gorgeous rolling fields and pastures, all sorts of things to see, and lakes and forests, we'll even see deer on the sides of the roads while we drive, and ponds with ducks and geese just paddling about. If we're there at the right time we may even see small baby goslings."

Greer sniffled against her dad's chest, not convinced yet.

"Did you know that when the trees are silvering, that means it's going to rain?"

Greer paused a few moments. "Silvering?"

"Yes," he laughed softly. "There are white poplar trees everywhere, where Sam is moving. And when it's going to rain, the poplar tree leaves turn themselves over. Even if you don't know what it means, you'll see it, Little Love, and you'll know. They'll go from their usual dark green from the topside you'd normally see, to a beautiful silvery sage green. You can't miss it, I promise you can't."

"If he's around so much beauty Daddy, won't he forget all about London and me?"

Greg took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Who could ever forget you, my beautiful girl? Why, I'll just bet Sam is going to miss you just as much as you'll miss him."

Indeed, Samuel McTavish would miss Greer just as much, and those handful of Lestrade family vacations over the years would do little to satiate their yearning to see each other in person.

Time would take its toll. As the years passed, and they grew from small children into young teenagers, and finally into adults, Greer and Sam would lose touch with each other, as time and age carried them forward. They never forgot about each other, and the affection would never die, but the passage of years would heal the hurt of absence, and life would go on.

One day, however, Sam would move back to England.

Back to London.

Back, in fact, to his old home neighbourhood.

Back to his Greer.

Two evenings of reminiscing would be enough to reignite the flame in these two now adult friends.

Sam had tales to tell of raging forest fires too close to home, and a sun blocked out and the air turned eerie colours by drifting smoke thousands of miles away, carried forth by the wind.

Flocks of geese heralding in with their returning song, the warmer weather of spring, pried loose from the grips of winter, and then short months later, mourning the loss of summer, with the approaching colours and scents and frosty mornings of the west-central Saskatchewan autumns as they prepared to depart to warmer haunts for the winter.

Of something known as "Rider Pride," – a fandom phenomenon known across the country - and a version of "football" that was wholly foreign to Greer's definition of it.

What the living HELL was "soccer" supposed to be, anyway? And why wasn't it just properly called football, and what the hell was North American football supposed to be, anyway? And why couldn't the Canadians and the Americans even agree upon rules?

Not even Greg could explain that one, and he considered himself a lover of sports in general.

Even Sam, Brit-born by heritage but Western Canadian by rearing, had to admit that for as much as he loved the Saskatchewan Roughriders, football in Canada had little to do with feet, and more to do with a lot of stops, starts, and a very strangely shaped ball that was mostly passed about by THROWING it.

Greer was just happy she had Sam back, and this whole world of experiences for him to share, and to grow to love with him.

Sam was in agreement. He missed his home in west-central Saskatchewan, but being back with Greer was home as well. He savoured the times with her, reacquainting himself with the city he'd been born in and learning again to see it the way she did, falling in love with it the way they seemed to be falling in love with eachother.

Sam knew that someday he'd take her back to where he felt he fit best. He'd take her on a leisurely scenic Sunday drive through his beloved lake country and she'd watch the fields of canola and wheat and lentils roll by. With a woman's eyes, she'd see the deer in the ditches, though her perspective from the opposite side of the car she was used to might be a bit distracting at first. They would listen to the frogs in the sloughs serenading them at night, and the memories of family vacations would be dusted off and viewed from the perspective of an adult.

They would wake up to the glorious sunrises and hold hands and share sweet nothings to a good old fashioned thunderstorm, should they be so blessed to have one during their short time there. They would dip their feet into a freshwater lake, maybe even walk the beach, their hands locked into themselves, as the sun set over the waters.

He would take her north closer to where he'd grown up, and she would hear the lonely call of the loon upon the waters that was the namesake of his childhood home.

She would love his "land of living skies" as much as he did, and he would once again, love the London cityscape as much as she did, because after all, home was where the heart was, and even though they would make their permanent residence in London, they knew they'd be happy wherever they were, as long as they were there together.


	82. Julian's Wedding Gift

**Julian's Wedding Gift**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, Romance, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Rosie and Julian_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Julian, Rosie_

* * *

 ** _Author's note: This chapter is directly connected to Chapter 83, titled "Rosie's Hen Night". This chapter chronicles Julian Bailey's surprise for his bride, providing background hinted at towards the end of "Rosie's Hen Night."_**

* * *

"Greg… Mr… Greg… Sir… oh hell," Julian trailed off.

Greg stood in the kitchen at 221C, pouring the water from the kettle into the tea pot, and wondering if instead he ought to be raiding the refrigerator for a cold bottle of beer or two.

"Spit it out, Julian," Greg said softly.

"I was wondering if you would… if you might… Well I know I haven't been on horseback since I was a kid, but I was wondering if you might be willing to help me to surprise Rosa on our wedding day."

Rosie, and horses, were all Greg needed to agree.

"Of course, lad. What did you have in mind?" Greg asked, smiling broadly as he poured, while listening.

"Rosa has spoken of Ennie. I gathered she's a thoroughbred mare descended from Peppercorn's mare and sire?"

Greg thought a moment, mentally placing the names and the lineage. "Yes," he finally said. "Pepper was a gelding but he had siblings from the same parentage. One of this brothers wasn't gelded so that he might be part of the stables' breeding program, and he has sired several excellent steeds. Cayenne is one of them."

"Rosa rides her still, then? With you?" Julian had a plan in mind, and Greg could tell by the hopeful smile.

"Yes, she definitely does." Greg stopped a moment, grinning at Julian, as comprehension struck full-on.

"Well you're a brave young groom, aren't you lad. You want to ride in on a horse, leading Ennie in for your bride, don't you?"

Julian cleared his throat lightly before laughing. Mr. Greg always did know what he was thinking.

"Basically, yeah. I was thinking after all of the festivities when we make our official exit. Rather than leave in a fancy car, I might take my leave a few moments early and arrive on horseback with Ennie… waiting for Rosa. We're getting married at the riding stables anyway, the horses will be right there already."

"And you want a horse suited to you to ride in on. Well. You realize this will mean a few trips out to Larkspur Lane, yeah? And you haven't ridden in years and even then only once."

"Yeah, well I'm all grown up now, Uncle. Sir. Greg. Mr. Greg."

Greg laughed out loud at the awkward address. "Yes, lad. Well. I'm sure we can manage. Give me a few days and I'll sort it for you, hey? Then we make a few trips out to get you acquainted with your steed, and a proper wedding surprise for Rosie."

When, several days later, Julian Bailey stood in front of what he still judged, even now as an adult, and not by anyone's standard a small statured one at that – to be a bloody huge horse, he took a deep breath. Rosa was worth it, he told himself. His beautiful, beloved Rosa.

"You're not bloody gonna believe this," Greg said, wincing. "Meet Rosie Posie. Her full name is Ring Around the Rosie."

Julian gave his boss, uncle-in-law, and mentor a blank look before raising an eyebrow and, whether from emotion, or circumstance, completely coming apart at the seams.

"Oh my God, please tell me she answers to Posie?" Julian gasped, breathless with laughter. "Because if I ride in on a horse with the same name as my wife, my wedding night is going to be somewhat less than eventful," Julian gasped, barely able to breathe.

"Yeah, probably." Greg rolled his deep brown eyes, his own composure rapidly and hopelessly beginning to crumble. "Won't be much horsing around then, hey? Sorry, Lad." Greg's laugh began to rumble as it finally rose up from his chest and escaped in helpless peals, joining Julian in the cathartic burst.

Posie, for her part, simply whinnied, huffed, and shifted her feet patiently. Finally, she turned her head to gaze condescendingly at the utterly ridiculous humans standing next to her.

They weren't her first, they woudn't be her last. Posie had seen it all. Humans were humans, and as long as they spoke to her softly, touched her gently, and treated her with kindness, she didn't mind their ways.

"I'll TRY not to fall down, then, Sir. Uncle. Greg. Mr. Greg. Oh bloody HELL. WHAT do I call you?"

Greg managed to regain control long enough to answer. "How about just Greg. When we're off duty, of course."

Greg took a deep breath, as Julian did, regaining control of his sensibilities. The younger man reached up to stroke Posie's face. "Oh, you're a grand lass though, aren't you?" he breathed, his control returning with his sense of calm. "I'm not much for horses but you're rather fetching I'd say." Posie simply nodded her head, snorting softly. Finally, the human had regained his sense of decorum.

"So what's say you let me put a saddle on you then, and try riding on your back," he said, fully returned to composure. "Such a gorgeous big girl you are, my Rosa will love you, no doubt." He raised his hands to follow her head as she brought it down to meet his gentle words and touch.

"Aye, there's a big girl then, Posie," Julian murmured, bringing his face to meet hers.

"You're sure you've had nothing to do with horses since that day years ago, Lad? Because you do seem to have a way with them."

"I'm sure," Julian said, absently, his focus still on the mare he intended to saddle up and mount. "I can see why Rosa loves them so. Such a beautiful, gentle spirit here." Greg looked on thoughtfully as Julian brought his hands to stroke Posie's face.

An hour later, with encouragement from Greg, Julian found himself, for the first time since he'd been a little boy, seated in a saddle.

Slowly, he found his way, and a few trips out to Larkspur Lane had him more at ease on horseback than he was at the notion of being a groom, in front of everyone, laying his heart out for all to witness.

Later in the day, at the small wedding hall located on the same property as the stables (for Julian couldn't picture Rosa getting married anywhere else), when the vows had been said, the first waltz danced, the speeches said and the meal shared, Julian Andrew Bailey gave a simple distinct look towards Greg.

Molly gave her husband a curious look, but trusted him. "Hold my ale and watch this, Love," he promised, as he leaned down to kiss her.

"Take too long and I'll drink your bloody ale before it goes warm and flat," Molly promised, with a quick kiss in return.

Julian snuck out with Greg and Kieran, and with a deep breath and a smile, mounted Posie. "There's a beautiful girl," he murmured to the young mare. "Here's our big moment now, no worries my big lass."

Greg, himself in dress blues, suddenly stood in awe of seeing this young boy he'd watched grow from the tender age of six, into a man, strapping and strong and one of the finest Scotland Yard could boast of, sitting high on horseback in his full Yarder's dress uniform. He glanced over at Kieran, who had stopped what he was doing to stare, equally mesmerized, up at his son.

"Oh, my beautiful boy," Kieran whispered, not unheard by Julian. "If you aren't a sight to behold."

Greg reached over to adjust Posie's bit, then did a last minute adjustment to her bridle. "If Rosie weren't already hopelessly in love with you lad, the sight of you right now would likely do it," he said, smiling warmly. Julian smiled gratefully at Greg, then turned and took Annie's reins from Kieran, who had led her over to him, then waited for his cue. Kieran gave him a look of adoring approval.

John, knowing his new son-in-law's plans, grinned as Greg and Kieran both returned with a nod. That was John's cue.

"Ladies and gentleman," he said loudly, "it's with pride and honour, and a full heart that I give my beautiful little lamb Rosamund Mary to Julian Andrew Bailey. They've been destined to be together for a lifetime, and now they're about to ride off into the sunset, but rest assured, we'll see them again soon enough when they've galloped back from their honeymoon. Let's hope their saddle sores are kept to minimum."

Rosie, though having held off a bit on the celebratory champagne, still gave her parents an odd look.

When he stepped forwards to escort her through the doors, she gasped to see her beloved Cayenne decked out in white saddle, bridle, and reins, and her groom, in his full Scotland Yard dress uniform, mounted on a beautiful thoroughbred mare she would come to know was named nearly the same as she was.

"Little Lass," Greg said, bowing, and offering a hand. "I believe your groom, and your Ennie, await."

Rosie spared little time, just enough to embrace Uncle Greg and give him a solid kiss to the cheek, then turn to Kieran to do the same, who lingered now with Emma, to greet this daughter he'd always wanted and knew it was only a matter of time before he finally had. Speechless, Rosie allowed Greg to delicately boost her into her saddle.

The moment she was seated, Rosie looked over to her new husband.

Julian sat upon Posie, gazing at his bride with bright green Irish eyes, threatening to brim over, and thinking back to that first moment he had truly fallen in love with her. It had been the day he'd seen her in her riding outfit, with Mr. Greg, when he'd joined them at the riding stables.

Julian was fairly certain he still wasn't going to be converted into a rider – this was something Rosa would always exclusively share with Uncle Greg - but for now, for this moment, he had no regrets. He reached out with his hand, passing Ennie's reins over to his bride, then took her hand. As if knowing – in fact, this wasn't her first time as an equine member of a bridal party at Larkspur Lane - Ennie huffed gently and moved closer to Julian, maneuvering herself to enough proximity for them to lean towards each other for a kiss.

As if on cue, Posie and Ennie whinnied softly in approval as Julian and Rosamund Bailey urged the horses to carry them forward.


	83. Rosie's Hen Night

**Rosie's Hen Night**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, Romance, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Julian and Rosie, Greg and Molly, Kieran and Emma, John and Alex, Greer and Sam (background)_

 ** _Main characters:_** _The ladies of Baker Street and associates ensemble_

* * *

 ** _Author's note: This chapter is directly connected to "Julian's Wedding Gift", which gives detailed background to the end of this chapter, which places heavy hints that the women in Rosie's life know a bit more than they're letting on about why exactly they think her wedding ensemble is so perfect for horseback riding._**

* * *

"So then Mrs. Hudson pointed out that they'd only been out for TWO HOURS," Grace said, the only one of the group to not be bordering on soused.

Grace Holmes, legal only with a parent in attendance, nevertheless enjoyed a good girls' night out, and Rosie's Hen Night was as good a time as any to let loose and maybe indulge in a glass.

"Well Dad remembers cluing for looks, Uncle Sherlock throwing up on a carpet, and not much else until Uncle Greg woke them up in the cells," Rosie said. Slightly less buzzed than most of them, Rosamund Watson nevertheless giggled helplessly.

"Daddy, as you know," Greer said, taking a random pull from her pint, "suffers no gladly fools. Wait," she said, her brows furrowing over dark chocolate brown eyes, concerned that she seemed to be confused. "That didn't come out right…"

"We know what you mean, love," Emma said, giggling over her glass of wine. She turned her attention to Greer.

"You, my darling, beloved, shiny brand spanking new niece, have a low bullshit tolerance. Anything above your limit makes you positively break out in hives. And besides, as you are my dear husband's subordinate with the Yard, well rather than a niece then that practically makes you my… step… no… that's not right. Surrogate… no… that's not right either… oh BUGGER. Well, you're practically MY daughter too. Oh, I'VE got it! You're my DD. My Detective Daughter!"

Greer took one wide eyed look at Emma before bursting into giggles. "Oh, well there's always room for one more mum," she said, draping an arm around Emma and planting a soft kiss to her cheek. "Kieran is just the BEST boss. Why Scotland Yard hasn't seen a DI the likes of him since Daddy led his team with him and Auntie Sally years ago. But you are wholly correct, Detective Mummy," Greer said solemnly. "I have a phemonil… phenol… oh sod it. A REALLY low bullshit tolerance."

"She's Greg's daughter alright," Molly said lightly. "Through and bloody through. So yeah darling, what were you saying about your Dad?"

Greer contemplated her glass for a moment, then her own shiny engagement ring. She smiled a moment, thinking of Sam, and the adventures they'd had on both sides of the pond whilst finding their way back to eachother.

"Yes. Well, he suffers no fools gladly, just like me… and after they'd been lodged in cells for the night to sober up, well Uncle John maintains Dad was a little bit meaner than was strictly necessary first thing."

"Honestly, WAS he really THAT mean?" Emma asked.

"NOT REALLY!" Greer nearly shouted, before bursting into giggles. "That is to say, Dad was just having a bit of fun. Honestly had Uncle John and Uncle Sherlock just bloody stayed put at 221B and not let that client in, they would have woken up somewhere in Mrs. Hudson's house, safe and sound, somewhat the worse for wear, not having had to pay to deep clean a carpet, but at least they wouldn't have had Daddy taking his bit of fun at their expense."

"If you ask me they had it coming," Molly muttered, herself bordering on "feeling no pain". "Then again, I was engaged to whatziznuts at the time and maybe a bit bitter towards my lot in life. Tom I think was his name? Oh that bloke was SO bloody thick. It's no wonder I found myself inching myself closer and closer to Greg as that interminable reception wore on."

"Yeah," Sally finally said, chiming in after observing in amusement and too entertained to interrupt. "I heard about that. He inched himself closer to you as well, whether he realized it or not. Or so I've been told. It's a wonder you didn't end up just saying to hell with it and shagging him that night."

Molly stared at Sally in mock horror. "Shagging him?! Greg!? That night?!"

Sally merely cleared her throat cheekily. "Well yeah. Or at the very least pushing him into a corner and snogging him until his stubble wore off."

"Well now, I won't lie. I was tempted to do that," Molly said, clearing her throat lightly and pretending to concentrate on swirling her glass.

"Shag him, or snog him?" Emma asked slyly.

"Either or. Both perhaps. Okay both PROBABLY," Molly finally confessed. "Well what can I say, he was damned dishy in that suit, and I was officially escorted by an idiot whose sole mission in life was to emulate Sherlock Holmes. In hindsight, it was bloody creepy."

Greer grinned to herself. She always had a feeling that there was more to her parents' history than anyone ever let on - including them, to themselves.

"Wonder how the lads are getting on?" Grace asked, contemplating her indulgence - a glass of single malt, Greer's treat. It was Grace's solitary drink that night and she'd wanted it to be worth something.

"I would imagine Julian is scared shitless but over the moon with excitement at the same time," Greer said, frankly – as was her preferred style.

"He's been waiting on this day for a very, very long time," Emma said, her voice beginning to catch. "As have Kieran and I. Oh love," she said, placing a hand over Rosie's, "Imagine the joy of having a day arrive when you've known all along it was coming and it was just a matter of time. Oh we're blessed, Rosie, my beautiful girl."

Alex, who had been steadfastly sipping on her own cocktail, hadn't said much to this point. "We're all blessed really," she finally said. "Rosie has made a lot of dreams come true, I reckon."

Rosie looked at her step-mum, her god-mum, and her mum-in-law as of the following day, and started to tear up.

"I call no fair," she said, as her voice caught. "I'm not THAT special. I'm just a small town girl living in a lonely world… "

"Oh SOD IT, Rosie," Greer said, rolling her eyes hard. "If you're quoting song lyrics you've clearly had a bit much to drink. Anyway London is HARDLY a small town, and you're HARDLY lonely. I say we abandon ship after we've finished this round and find our way home. Surely the men aren't back yet from their pub crawl and the last thing any of us needs is me waking everyone up in cells like an all inclusive asshole. Just like my wonderful, handsome daddy did all those years ago."

"Greer, darling," Molly was pained to point out, "I'm afraid Kieran would be the one to wake all of us up. You'd be sleeping it off in cells with the rest of us rat-arsed little hens."

"Oh, he WOULDN'T," Greer stated flatly and firmly.

"He would," Emma confirmed. Alex snickered with Sally, as Molly smugly emptied her glass.

"Well then, Mum, ladies, I think we'd best be on our way back to Baker Street," Grace said.

The next morning, while a couple of their number were feeling just a tad southerly, for the most part, strong coffee and a hearty breakfast courtesy of Greg, Kieran, Sherlock, and John (who themselves seemed to be in somewhat need of a cure) appeared to fix them up properly. The women associated with 221 Baker Street were primed, locked, and loaded for a wedding they'd been waiting on for many, many years.

Greer, grudgingly dolled up in a real dress, with flats, stood behind Rosie with Alex and Molly nearby. "I can't believe you found WHITE riding boots, Rosie," Greer said, admiringly, with a subtle wink towards the other women.

"Oh, horses are just… I think if I'd been born anything other than human, I like to think I'd have been a horse. The only thing that makes me happier than being in saddle is being with Jules," she said softly.

"Well, I think you're stunning, and you truly found a wedding gown to suit your spirit," Molly said, coming up from behind and wrapping her arms around her goddaughter. "And just look at it, it's perfect for a little ride too."

Emma gave Molly a small jab to the ribs. "Indeed, you look like you could hop right onto a horse straight out of the chapel."

Rosie laughed softly. "Oh, that's a grand image, isn't it. With my groom who hasn't ridden a horse since he was a wee lad, and even then he only did it to please me."

"I suppose you're right," Emma said. "What a beautiful sight it would be though, wouldn't it. Julian in his full Yarder dress blues, and you in your bridal attire. Oh, it would have been breathtaking, wouldn't it?"

"Well yes," Rosie conceded, shrugging, "but this is Jules' wedding too and it's enough for me to be married here at the stables. My heart is so full already, Mums," she said, turning around, gathering Alex and Emma to her.

"Ladies," Molly said, checking her watch, "the hour is upon us. Rosamund, are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be Auntie," the bride replied, with a radiant grin.

"Right then, shall we ladies?" Molly asked, as she opened the door, fired a fast text to John and Greg, and motioned everyone out.


	84. A Holiday Interlude

**A Holiday Interlude**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg and Molly_

* * *

Molly shivered suddenly, momentarily. Greg smiled to himself, sensing the physical vibration from his wife, and released her hand, moving his arm around her waist and pulling her close to him as they walked along the beach.

"Bit of a chill in the air tonight, hey," he said softly, as they moved, barefoot, around the shore of the small west-central Saskatchewan freshwater lake.

"Well, it's Canada, darling, and the breeze is coming off the water. Then again, this air… oh Greg," she said, as she wrapped her own arm around his waist, pulling him even closer to her as they continued their leisurely romantic stroll, savouring the contrast of his body heat and the fresh cool air that enveloped them. "This air. It's absolutely divine. I never knew how good it felt to breathe air like this. Not even the air right in town is this marvelous."

"Yeah, it's quite nice, isn't it?" Greg said simply, in agreement, as he turned his head to place a kiss on her hair.

"Shhhhh," Molly suddenly whispered. "Do you hear that?"

Greg paused, stopping their stroll. He turned in front of her to face her, moving his free arm around her waist to envelop her. "That's a lonely cry, isn't it?" he whispered back. "I wonder if the loons know they're not so lonely tonight on this beautiful evening?"

"Mmmmm, I hope they don't care," Molly murmured, standing as much on her tiptoes as the reddish sand of the lake's shore would allow her, reaching up to kiss her husband.

"Planning to scar those poor birds for life, are we now?" Greg chuckled softly, as he leaned down to meet her.

"Mmmm hmmmm," Molly finally whispered, finding her breath. "We really must find a way to thank the McTavishes for taking the children tonight. I know Greer doesn't mind spending extra time with Sam, I just hope Johnnie and Scott aren't bored to death."

"Oh, I think Chris and Amy have them interested enough in the water sports," Greg said with a satisfied grin. "I haven't seen them that tired in a long time. This fresh air sure seems to do the trick doesn't it? They've not slept this well in quite some time."

"Well, I'M not that tired, darling," Molly hinted slyly, "and I've had plenty of this fresh air. In fact I find it to be rather… invigorating. Oh, but what about you? I'm sorry, I didn't even think…" she teased.

Greg allowed his hands to wander freely in their solitude, their only company the light of the moon, the gentle sounds of the waves lapping against the shore, and of course, the loons on the water, oblivious to anything beyond their own private existence on the water.

"Oh," Molly gasped softly. "So you're a bit…"

"NOT tired," Greg said, as his mouth found its way to her collarbone, working his way up.

"Do you suppose we might… OH!"

"Mmmmm yes?" he murmured.

"We might hold off until we… uh… mmmm… make it back to our… ohhh… cab… mmm… cabin?"

"Possibly," Greg breathed against her skin. "But no guarantees." He finished his ministrations on her neck and mouth and pulled back to look at her. "Though I shall certainly strive to please milady," he said, his tone enough to melt Molly's knees.

"Oh, I've no doubt you'll please me," Molly said softly. "But you've heard of delayed gratification… perhaps we should take a few more minutes to enjoy this spectacular view, in fact I suspect we might be able to see it just as well from semi-privacy behind those bushes over there…"

"Molly Kathleen Lestrade, I am shocked," Greg gasped, dramaticaly feigning horror. "Are you seriously suggesting that we flout the laws of common public decency and… right HERE… on the shores of this…"

"Race ya."

Greg stared at his wife, his brown eyes huge, for just a split second.

He was about to accept her challenge with vigour, when Molly gasped loudly, tugging at his waist, completely enamoured.

"Oh darling, LOOK," she said, pointing above them at the clear night sky, alight and dancing with phantom, ghostly wonder.

Greg caught his breath, and he smiled widely. Breaking his gaze at the heavens for just a moment, he glanced down at Molly. "Oh, Molly. Love, let's stretch out right here and watch. It isn't everyday they see the Aurora Borealis even here. I think this is a bit of a rare treat."

Molly didn't need to be asked twice. Stretching out on the sand, side by side, but for a different purpose than their original intentions, they wrapped themselves up in the blanket Molly carried in her tote bag, and gazed upwards.

When the northern lights above them had begun to fade away, they looked at each other with a grin, and were about to do something to elaborate on the moment, when they heard another, different lonely cry.

"Oh bollocks," Greg whispered, sitting up "Did you hear that, Love?"

Sitting up next to Greg, Molly's brows furrowed in worry as her breath caught. "Coyotes?"

Greg nodded in the moonlight, frowning towards the trees. Glancing at Molly, he reached over to pick up his shoes, He took only a moment to slip back into them, Molly following suit and doing the same.

"A great bloody pack of them, I'd say by the sounds of it." He shared a look with her, their amorous mood temporarily cooled. Rising to his feet from the cool sand, he reached down to help Molly up.

"Um, perhaps we might keep ourselves in check until we make it back to the cabin, after all?" Molly said, quietly, her eyes nervously scanning the treeline, as she brushed sand from herself.

"My beautiful wife, you are wise, as well as gorgeous. Besides, I think I saw bear scat a few hundred feet back."

"Bear scat?"

"Yeah. Lots of black bears in the area, especially given the nearby campgrounds. Sweetheart, it's Saskatchewan lake country. There are likely even cougars about, and wolves, though I'm not entirely sure if they'd be so close to the park."

"Oh… well in that case… how quickly do you suppose we can make our way back to the car?"

"Quickly enough, I reckon. Of course, once we're there, we may have to celebrate being safely under cover again…"

Molly shot him a look, somewhere between scolding and sheer anticipation.

"What can I say?" he said, almost apologetically. "This place has me feeling rather… energized."

"Well the sound of hungry predators only a few hundred metres away from us has me feeling rather energized as well, darling. Though not in the same way YOU may be…"

"Fair enough," Greg replied with a small smile, leaning down to kiss her quickly. "Right then, love. Shall we?" he said calmly, offering her his arm and leading the way.


	85. The Benefits of Wrestling

**The Benefits of Wrestling**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Sherlock and Sally_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sherlock, Sally, Michael discussed, Grace mentioned_

* * *

Sherlock blanched.

"My SON. Into… SPORTS?"

Sally held back a burst of sarcastic laughter.

"Well he takes after his dad."

"ME? I'm as athletic as a bloody garden slug. I've no interest in sports. Physical activity is… BORING."

"Oh? Sally asked, raising an eyebrow.

"MOST physical activity… is… um…" he said, as Sally moved in on him.

"Okay FINE," he said, grinning like an idiot after being thoroughly and completely snogged.

"Physical activity that does NOT involve my gorgeous," he kissed her, "sensual," just one more little kiss, " _in_ _credibly_ intelligent Old Plod," a small peck for good measure, "is boring."

"Better," Sally mumbled.

"But our SON. Seriously? Wrestling?"

"Well," Sally pointed out, not releasing her husband necessarily, but pulling back enough to have a decent conversation with him. "Wrestling IS as close to physical activity as you've ever gotten… apart from me of course."

"Oh PLEASE tell me he's going to DO something with this in the future," Sherlock lamented. He had always envisioned his progeny to be at least as cerebral as he was, if not actually surpassing that.

"Oh come on Git," Sally said, with a scolding tone and a scowl. "How many altercations have you gotten into and lived to tell the tale because you had martial arts training, or self defense, wrestling, or whatever have you. Michael and Grace have BOTH expressed interest in martial arts, it's just that Michael is very keen on wrestling too."

"It's done me no harm, over the years, I confess," Sherlock admitted, his arms still draped around Sally's waist.

"Sometimes being clever means being too clever for your own good, and that will eventually mean you have to put up or get beaten up." Sally remained in her spot, her arms casually wrapped around her husband. "Besides, he takes after you in other ways too, not the least of which is being full to the brim with nervous pent up energy. Athletics are a good, healthy outlet for him."

Sherlock sneered in pure disgust. Then he rolled his eyes, and sighed heavily, as if the admission that he might be mistaken and Sally was possibly correct was a great, overwhelming, physical burden.

"Fine. Whatever," he sighed, as he gently pulled her close and allowed his hands to wander. "Might we discuss this later, Old Plod?" he said, with a cheeky grin and a breathy sigh against her neck.

"A distinct possibility," Sally managed, just barely. "But rest assured my Git, we're not… oh… finished… oh just bloody sod it…" she finally conceded. Pushing him away for just a moment, she raised her eyebrows at his dancing eyes and silly smile, and managed to warn him, "We WILL be discussing this later, Sherlock," before breaking into the warmest of grins.

Sherlock knew that the use of his real name rather than simply being called "Git" meant that his wife indeed meant to keep her promise, and so she did. The debate would again come into focus within the week, but by then, thanks to Sally's gentle persuasions, and a forced trip to Michael's school to watch him in action during a practice, Sherlock would finally be convinced that perhaps athletics wouldn't be such a waste of time, after all.


	86. Winnipeg McTavish

**Winnipeg McTavish**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship, Humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Chris and Amy McTavish (parents to Sam McTavish)_

 ** _Main characters:_** _The Lestrade family, the McTavish Family, and introducing Winnipeg "Winnie" McTavish, Black Labrador Retriever_

* * *

Winnipeg McTavish, best known as Winnie, flopped down on the grass next to John Lestrade. She was a young dog, relatively speaking, but having so many playmates around was exhausting - especially given their love of the water. Winnie, as a labrador retriever, loved the water, and was full of seemingly boundless energy - but even she had her limits.

Winnie, having been named after the small black bear who, as British immigrants making a new life in Canada, the McTavish family had embraced as part of the largely un-thought of history of their new chosen home, sighed heavily. John occupied himself rubbing her ears and stroking her head, a little bit of leisurely pampering before her family and their visitors turned in for the night.

"Ugh," Greer groaned wearily. "Daddy. I'm SOOOO tired," she said, crawling into Greg's lap and crashing against his chest, one arm flopped around his neck.

"Fresh air getting to you Little Love?" Greg asked her gently, giving her back a quick rub.

Winnie heard the new voices and sighed heavily but happily, her thick ebony tail thudding softly and wearily against the ground.

"Yes, Daddy. And the swimming and the paddle boating and," Greer interrupted herself with a deep yawn, "and playing fetch with Winnie, and the mini-golf and the football…" she trailed off, yawning again. "I never thought it could be possible to find SO many things to do OUTSIDE," she declared. With deep brown eyes that were bleary from her youthful energy well and truly spent, but still bright with excitement, she grinned over at Sam, who himself had crashed on his dad's lap.

"Well it's different here than in London," Molly pointed out with a soft laugh. "I have to say it's rather refreshing. I never realized how much I needed this holiday until we were actually here."

"Beer, Greg? Molly? Or hot chocolate? Coffee? Tea? Anything?"

Greg contemplated Amy's offer for a moment. The air was cool and bracing against the contrast of the heat from the fire pit the Lestrades and McTavishes sat around. Greg found that while his legs and feet were toasty, perhaps even a bit TOO toasty, his back and shoulders were feeling a chill, and as such, he wasn't sure he really fancied a cold beer all that much. "What's already made?" he finally asked.

"Whatever you wish," Amy said. "Single serve coffee maker. Takes but a minute to prepare a cuppa if it's coffee or cocoa you wish," she smiled.

"Have we any Baileys left, love?" Chris asked, tightening his arms around Sam. "Perhaps a cup of coffee with a good healthy shot of Baileys would make a suitable nightcap?"

Greg thought this might be the perfect compromise, having already been served the lake country tradition in the mornings, and the afternoons, and several random times in between. Molly smiled as Amy offered her the same, nodding in gracious approval.

"Classic Canadian back yard fire pit bevvy," Amy said, winking as she departed momentarily. "There are some customs of this place that took NO time at all to get used to."

"We're lucky, Mr. Lestrade," Sam said, as he snuggled close to his dad. "The rural municipality lifted our fire ban only last week, or we wouldn't be allowed to treat you to this. The spring was rather dry, this year."

Molly rose an eyebrow at Greg. This was wholly and completely a foreign world for them, one that they had quickly fallen in love with for its natural beauty, and its sheer contrast to what they were accustomed to in London.

"No fires, at ALL?" John asked, from his spot at Molly's feet, where he busied himself cuddling Winnie.

"I can't imagine how BORING that must have been," Scott declared, from his spot on Molly's other side, as he contemplated crawling into her lap. He may be a big boy now, but a lad still liked a cuddle now and then. Besides, he was a bit chilled and Mummy looked awfully cozy in her oversized jumper. Staring into the fire was making him sleepy, and he fancied he might like to fall asleep with Mum's arms wrapped around him, just for old time's sake. Yeah, yeah, that was it. Old time's sake.

"None at all. The risk of a wildfire in the forest was too great," Chris said. "That's another thing we've had to get used to," he continued, as he took his cup from Amy's offering hand with an affectionate smile of gratitude. "Day to day precautions we never dreamed of ever having to consider. Of course now they're a matter of routine. Common sense really. Volunteer firefighter training is quite enlightening. So to speak."

"We've had enough rain the past month however, the RM has finally seen fit to lift the ban. Right in time for the August Long weekend too," Amy added, as she handed over steaming mugs to Greg and Molly. Much to Greer's delight, Amy handed her a cup of steaming hot decaf coffee as well, having heard that the young girl was wild for the brew. "We've been fortunate people have exercised common sense. Can't say I fancy the idea of Chris having to fight some great fire that some bloody dolt is responsible for."

"Oh, Canada Day weekend in the park was SO boring," Sam said sadly. "Oh the picnic was WONDERFUL, and the games, and making so many new friends and such, but we weren't allowed fireworks and I SO looked forward to fireworks our first Canada Day. We couldn't have a bonfire either."

"Well, at least without fireworks we were able to have Winnie with us, anyway we're allowed a fire now, Son," Amy said, laughing softly, "and rumour has it the Park board has made plans for fireworks this weekend. Since the Lestrades are here for another eight days, they'll be able to enjoy them too. I hear they're beautiful to see out here. They fire them off over the lake and the night sky is so bright and clear out here."

"Oh, Greg," Chris said suddenly. "Did Corporal Rhode get hold of you?" When Chris had mentioned that his son's friend from London was to be visiting, and her father was a Detective Inspector with New Scotland Yard, the NCO in charge of the RCMP detachment had offered Greg a day of ridealong, thinking she might like to hear of some of the contrasts between Canadian and British law enforcement, and investigations techniques in particular.

"She did," Greg said, with enthusiasm, as he adjusted a light blanket over Greer, and took a sip from his cup. "I'm quite looking forward to it, actually. The forecast is calling for rain tomorrow anyway. I might as well be warm and dry in an RCMP cruiser as anywhere else, I reckon," he chuckled.

Completely knackered but still too wired to actually nod off, and in her happy place between being on her dad's lap and having a cup of her own special coffee in her hands, Greer's ears perked. "Do you suppose I may go too sometime, Daddy?" she asked sweetly, as her fist came up in a vain attempt to stifle another yawn. "Not THIS time, of course, but another time? Oh I would SO love to be on a ridealong. It would be SO exciting! You get to go with a REAL Canadian policewoman tomorrow." Greer fairly swooned at the very notion of not only a Mountie, but a LADY Mountie commanding her very own police station.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to ask Cpl Rhode, Little Love. I'll let you know what she says, yeah?" he answered gently, placing a kiss on the top of her head. He turned to Chris. "Is there anything I should know before tomorrow? Bit of background on the detachment?"

"Well, you already know Cpl Rhode is the NCO in charge. She's three Members under her command here, plus a couple of Auxiliary Constables, one from the local First Nation. They're a small staff with a large area to cover, but they manage most of the time. Unfortunately even THEY aren't happy with response times as a rule. The rural detachments are often understaffed in comparison to the area they have to police."

Greg shook his head. Such an incredible contrast from what he was used to in London. Molly glanced over at him, herself now holding a contentedly sleeping Scott.

"I hope you don't intend to leave until after breakfast though, darling?" Molly asked, hopefully. "I've been looking forward to a full English brekkie for DAYS. Your bangers are the BEST," she teased. She wasn't sure that her husband hadn't blushed at that, given the warm light given off from the fire pit.

At the word "bangers", Winnie's ears perked up and she licked her chops. She may have been a Canadian born dog, but her family was British to the core, and she had learned those extra special words such as "chips", "biscuits", "pasties", and her favourite - "bangers" - that meant tasty things she may charm her way into small nibbles of. Turning her head to give John's hand a grateful lick, she rose and moved over to Greg's feet, flopping down with a groan and a sigh.

"Yes, well," Chris laughed at the look Greg gave Molly. "Full English breakfast is definitely in the plans tomorrow. We haven't had one of those ourselves for quite some time. We thought we might have a leisurely day of it, perhaps stick around town. You're here to relax," he laughed, "not leave here more exhausted than you were when you arrived from London!"

Greg chuckled at that, as he noticed John eyeing up the empty spot on his lap that Greer had failed to take up. Giving a silent nod to his oldest, John wasted no time perching himself gingerly, aware that he was big enough now to be a bit awkward with his growing limbs when cuddling with one of his parents, especially when sharing them with one of his siblings.

"Just a short while, Son," he whispered softly. "It's nearly bedtime for you." John gazed up at his dad with tired, bleary brown eyes and simply nodded, before resting his head against Greg's shoulder and promptly falling asleep.

"So how was your little getaway," Amy asked, smiling at Molly.

Molly cleared her throat and gave a sideways look to Greg, who merely smiled at her with pure mischief. "Oh, it was wonderful. The cabin, the beach, the sunset, the loons…"

"The northern lights," Greg continued, "the coyotes, the black bears… heard scratching at the screen door, might have been a rabid raccoon…"

"Sounds about right," Chris laughed. "Though it may have just been bats," he said, with a little too much deliberate casualness. "Or perhaps a skunk. Remember, it's always better to be pissed off, than to be pissed on."

Molly snorted at this, unable to stop herself.

Amy rolled her eyes slightly at her husband before catching his laughing eyes. "Well, we managed to catch the northern lights here as well. Did you dare take a swim?"

Molly shivered. "We dipped our feet in but that lake is bloody cold," she said. "One of the locals told us it's fed by streams. We found one of them too, stood in it barefoot. My feet ached in under a minute from the cold."

"Yes, and for the rest of the night you tried to warm them against my bloody back," Greg said teasingly.

Molly stuck her tongue out at him, knowing full well that the truth was, though he had flinched, and swore softly under his breath when her feet had made contact with his back, after that, he hadn't at all minded her warming the rest of her chilled little self against him that night. In fact, he had helped her to that end, with great enthusiasm.

"Yes, WELL," Molly said. "This coffee was divine, but I think I'm ready for bed, speaking of it." The plans for the next day had been laid out, and the morning seemed well in hand. "If someone might take this sleeping boy of mine so I can stand up?"

Greer, still awake, carefully slid off her dad's lap, mindful of Winnie at his feet. John, stirring and groggy, followed suit with a steadying hand from his baby sister. Tousling their hair with both hands, Greg took the few steps over to Molly and reached down, plucking his other sleeping son from her lap. Watching as Molly rose, Greg was surprised as she reached over, re-claiming Scott from his arms. Once again, he was amazed at how deceptively strong his wife was. Then again, he realized, she did post mortems for a living. Many of those tools required a certain level of physical strength. He glanced down at his other two, seeing Greer smile up at her groggy big brother, taking him by the hand and leading him behind Mummy.

Greg gazed thoughtfully at them, then turned to relieve Chris of the slumbering Sam, just long enough for their host to rise from his chair before reclaiming his boy. Winnie, having been sleeping contentedly at Greg's feet, finally stirred herself. Yawning with a deep whine, she licked her chops with a dazed look, wondering where all of her humans had suddenly gone.

"Come on, Winnie," Chris said, "It's bedtime big lass. Your new family awaits you, old girl."

* * *

 _Author's Note: Winnipeg's name was inspired by Winnie the Pooh, a character known best for his friends Christopher Robin, Piglet, Eeyore, Tigger, and company. Winnie, named "Winnipeg" after his adopted home by the English born Canadian soldier, Lt. Harry Coleburn, was purchased as a small cub from a trapper in Ontario in 1914. She stayed with Lt. Coleburn, becoming the regiment's mascot, and eventually managed to accompany him to England when they were shipped out for further instruction. There, Lt. Coleburn trained for 7 weeks on the Salisbury Plain, and when they were called to the Western Front, in December of the same year, Winnie was taken to the London Zoo, where she became the star attraction, and where she lived out the remainder of her years, to the age of 20. There, she became the inspiration for the iconic "Winnie the Pooh" books. Winnie's friend Christopher Robin, was none other than Christopher Robin Milne, the young son of A.A. Milne, who authored the books._


	87. Operation Brekkie

**Operation Brekkie**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Greer, Johnnie, Scott_

* * *

"Mmmmmm… Greg?" Molly murmured as she tightened her arms around him under the covers.

"Hmmm?" he slurred in return, sleep not quite ready to surrender him to wakefulness yet.

"What day is it?" She sighed softly against the bare skin of his chest. Silently, he smiled at the ticklish sensation.

"Mmmm… Sunday morning, I believe," Greg replied, finally admitting to himself that he was, indeed, awake.

"We should be allowed to stay right here then, shouldn't we? Tell me again why we can't?"

Greg sighed, then opened his eyes, blinking several times. He turned his head to press a lingering kiss to the top of Molly's hair. Somehow, it still managed to smell of her shampoo. He took a few moments to bask in that.

"We have children, Love. Children who need attention and need to be fed."

"Ah. Yes. That's right, too," she sighed softly. "Well, I need to use the loo anyway. Stay right here darling, perhaps they're sleeping in."

Reluctantly releasing his grip on her, Greg gazed up at her as she rose and threw on a silk kimono-style robe – a gift from Sherlock after he'd found himself in Tokyo, blindly following a lead as Maisie would blindly follow a scent.

He lay there under the covers, content with life in general and the day in particular, when his nose wiggled.

Was that coffee? And sausages? Toast? But Molly had only been gone, what, two minutes, tops.

Greg knew he had married the most amazing woman in the world, but even THAT was beyond Molly's abilities.

Rising from the warmth of the bed, he threw on his own robe, tying it loosely at his waist. Tiptoeing out, he spotted Molly peering into the kitchen, unseen by the small beings at the centre of the hushed flurry of activity.

"The coffee is ready," Greer said, as quietly as she could without actually whispering. "Oh Scott, turn the burner down just a bit, the eggs will burn. Daddy always turns it down to here," she said, reaching up from her spot on a stool to adjust the heat setting.

"Oh never mind, Scott," John softly scolded. "Our sister has FORGOTTEN more about making breakfast than the two of us together have ever learned yet," he said, as he carefully turned sausages in the skillet, making sure they were evenly cooked. "That's why we put her in charge of 'Operation Brekkie', don't forget."

"Fine then," Scott said, but not without a smile. "Our itty bitty baby sister can cook circles around us. I'm fine with that. I've no problems taking orders from a girl."

"Mummy has taught you well then," Greer said softly. "Now that's better, look, they're still going to be perfect. It's not hard big brother, it just needs attention, that's all."

"How is this then?" John asked, patiently keeping vigil over the sausages. Greer peered over her shoulder, nodding silently.

"Oh, bollocks," Greer muttered, as she turned back to her own task. Greg blanched while Molly clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a burst of laughter. Greg made a mental note to mind his verbal manners while around his children.

"Johnnie, could you squeeze these oranges for me please? I'm too little to do a good enough job. Switch?"

John chuckled softly as he switched places with Greer, pausing only to catch the toast as it popped.

"Where's the tray at anyway? We'll need the tray to serve them proper breakfast in bed," Scott pointed out.

"Pantry," Greer said, smiling into the skillet in approval at Scott's cooking skills. Peering into the pan of eggs, she gave John a nod of approval as well.

Greg and Molly, having seen enough and sensing that they should probably skedaddle back to bed, quietly and unseen by their children, retreated back to the privacy of their bedroom.

"Breakfast in bed, hey?" Molly said curiously. "I had no idea our children could cook."

"Greer can, with help," Greg reminded her. "How many times did she help me in the kitchen for brekkie? She's young but she's smart. She's got it well in hand."

"So it would seem," Molly purred, as she reached her arms back and let her robe slide to the floor. "I wonder how much time we have before they appear with that tray?"

Greg's dark eyes took on a mischievous gleam as he shrugged his own robe off. "Not long enough for _that_ ," he said, as they settled back under the covers, "but long enough for _this_ ," he said, bringing his arm around to envelope her and leaning in for a good and proper snog.

"Mmmmmmm… a meal for every appetite this morning, it seems," Molly murmured happily.


	88. Christmas Morning Yet to Come

**Christmas Morning Yet to Come**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _All pairings_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Ensemble_

* * *

"Oh no. I'm too bloody skinny to be Father Christmas. Anyway they're all too smart for their own good. Even Danny would know better and he's not even a year old."

It was December 23, and the finer details of Christmas plans were being finalized over festive drinks, and the glowing warmth of a blazing Baker Street fireplace.

"You're the oldest though, Greg, and you're the only one with silvering hair and… well. I suppose the argument's just petered out, hasn't it," John admitted with a silly smile. He'd forgotten how tasty Molly's mulled wine was.

"Greg's right, and it doesn't even pain me to admit it," Sherlock said, swirling his eggnog – set up with a healthy shot of rum by Mrs. Hudson and a generous sprinkling of nutmeg. At least, the first one had been like that. Sherlock wasn't sure of the exact proportions this time. Only that, like the first, this one also tasted like another one.

"All of our children are far too clever," he continued, in his own unmistakable baritone. "They'll know it's Greg the moment he speaks. Nobody else sounds like him. He can't disguise it in the least. Gregory," he said, leaning forward, beginning to feel the effects of Mrs. Hudson's measurements, "your voice has three distinct levels, and though none of them sound as though they come from the same man, when you know better, all of them are unmistakably yours." Sherlock sat back, satisfied thusfar with his argument in Greg's favour.

"Besides," he concluded definitively towards John this time, "Sherla especially is bound to figure it out almost immediately. She adores Greg, so she obviously knows her own father backwards and forwards, no matter how he speaks."

"Ciana Jane would know as well," Greg pointed out. His hot buttered rum – an old family recipe passed down from his mother's side for several generations now - was settling nicely, breeding festive warm and fuzzies in his belly and his mind. "God knows why, but she seems fond of my voice. I daresay she might know before Greer even figures it out."

Greg gave John a look of smug "told you so" victory as he took a healthy pull of his aforementioned hot buttered rum. It was only his first one, but Mrs. Hudson, entrusted with his also aforementioned old family recipe, had altered it somewhat, putting it in an extra-large mug. As with Sherlock's cup of eggnog, she had fixed Greg's beverage up with an extra splash (or two, or three) of spirits, thinking her boys didn't need the trouble of getting up for refills while such important matters as Christmas traditions were being discussed.

"I think we should dispense with the charade and simply hand out the gifts on Christmas morning," Greg opined. "There's enough to do with everything else we've planned."

John sighed, sitting back in his Christmas jumper and contemplating his warm drink. "Well, alright then," he said, shrugging with a self-deprecating grin. "I didn't say it was a GOOD idea. I'm going to blame Mrs. Lestrade's mulled wine and leave it at that, hey? So who's on Christmas morning breakfast duty with Greg?"

"All of us," Sherlock replied, with a signature grin. "And we draw straws at that time to decide who gets to stuff their hand up the bird's arse. Greg is exempt as he's making the dressing and leading the charge in the kitchen."

"I vote John be exempt as well," Greg said. "He's doing all the baking, after all, I think he has enough to do, don't you?" At this, Sherlock nodded in agreement, thinking in particular of John's ginger biscuits and his mince pies.

"And Sherlock knows nothing about cooking. I'd rather he not go near that bird with a ten foot pole, if we don't all want to spend Boxing Day fighting for a spot in front of the loo." John gave a sardonic grin towards Sherlock, who feigned offence at the lack of confidence in his abilities to ram seasoned bread inside a hollow bird carcass.

"Well then," Sherlock said with raised eyebrows. "That leaves Kieran and Anderson, who aren't here to defend themselves. I say THEY draw straws and we leave it at that."

John nodded at this with a snort and a chuckle, then confirmed, "Speaking of, the Baileys will be here around 11:00 by the way. Rosie and Julian have a special project in mind to keep the children occupied. Somehow they managed to convince me to make them gingerbread cottage pieces to build into a centrepiece."

Briefly, Sherlock wondered if they'd notice if parts of the pre-fabricated structure went "missing", unaware that John had already anticipated a cottage caper, making sure there were "spare" pieces on hand to keep everyone happy.

"Anderson texted earlier today. He and Jackie will be here with Ciana around that time as well," Greg said. "Apparently Jackie is also bringing a few treats for the children. We've the billets figured out, as well. Ciana will bunk with Greer of course, Julian will sleep on an inflatable mattress on the floor in Rosie's room, and of course Gareth will share Danny's cot." He shook his head with amazement that everyone was actually going to fit. "Baker Street is going to be stuffed tighter than the bird itself on Christmas Eve, but it's going to be a grand time," he smiled, his eyes lit up with anticipation.

"Indeed," John said with a sigh, still unsure of how he felt about the men taking over Christmas dinner duties. It had not been one of his finer moments, he had thought back with regret. That would teach him to talk big with a bit too much of the seasonal drinkies settling in the old bread basket.

John was just grateful to have Greg taking charge, and for himself to be designated with the baking duties. That, at least, he knew he could handle with ease and confidence. Much like cooking did for Greg, John found baking for his loved ones and extended loved ones to be therapeutic and satisfying.

It was Sherlock he was concerned about, who could neither cook, nor bake, his way out of a bloody paper bag. He supposed Sherlock might be trusted with a knife to chop vegetables, but even that seemed a bit dodgy, given how slaphappy he could be with a pistol. John wasn't certain what he might do with a knife if he began to consider the assigned tasks as "boring."

John wasn't sure about Kieran's abilities, though he suspected they were marginally better than Sherlock's skills. As for Anderson, John truly had no idea, but given the years he'd spent as a divorcé before he'd met Jackie, he assumed that Anderson had, at the very least, learned how to boil an egg and make a bit of toast.

And so it came to pass, that Christmas Eve arrived at Baker Street. The old tradition of Phillip singing his Christmas lullaby to "Lady Greer" had remained, but a new one had also begun the year before, one that had gone over so well that the women and children had requested it continue.

After a brief consultation with each other that first year, the parts had been decided, and Greg, Sherlock, John, Kieran, and Phillip, with supporting roles from their wives and Mrs. Hudson, took turns reading "A Christmas Carol". This year, they had decided that for the sake of remaining true to the tradition, they would keep the roles assigned previously.

Greg, not surprisingly and with a brief glare at both Kieran and Phillip, had accepted the lead role of the grumpy, curmudgeonly, miserly boss, Ebenezer Scrooge. Sherlock had pointed out then as well, that as Greg had more than one "voice" which could range from miles deep, to gravelly, to velvety posh, and as such he would be able to handle easily and authentically the various stages of Scrooge's age and character evolution.

It was decided that to maintain authenticity, Kieran would take on the role of his long suffering clerk, Bob Cratchit, as well as The Ghost of Christmas Present.

Tiny Tim had been assigned to John, after it had been pointed out that everyone else's voice was too deep, and as such, it would be also be appropriate for him to read the part of The Ghost of Christmas Past.

Jacob Marley and The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come both belonged to Sherlock, who reveled in the notion of speaking as darkly ominous spectres.

Anderson gladly accepted the parts of Scrooge's nephew Fred, and the narrator.

Not surprisingly, the wives took on roles which corresponded with the ladies associated with the men in the story - Emma as Mrs. Cratchit, Jackie as Fred's wife, Molly as Belle – Scrooge's former betrothed. Sally, Alex, and Mrs. Hudson took on the various other parts.

With everyone gathered around the fireplace, the children already in their pyjamas, Ciana contentedly curled up cozily on Greg's lap, and Greer on Phillip's, Phillip Anderson commenced the tale.

 ** _**_** _"_ _Marley was dead: to begin with_. _There is no doubt whatever about that_." Phillip started. He glanced up. Ciana, snuggled down with Greg - who held his own copy of the book waiting his turn to read - was instantly entranced with the sound of her daddy's voice reading to her, and the others were already enthralled by the tale they had grown to love. Smiling, he continued, **_**_** _"The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail."_

As the beloved tale was read in the hours before bedtime, and the promises of Father Christmas had settled in firmly, it was only the soothing sound of their fathers' voices that the children needed now, to complete the evening and make them more than ready to slumber peacefully, and dream sweetly of Christmas morning yet to come.

* * *

 ** _**Text in italics from "_** _A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens, 1843. No copyright infringement is intended._


	89. Kind and Determined Hearts

**Kind and Determined Hearts**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Johnnie, Scott, Greer_

* * *

"Daddy," young Scott asked softly. "When will Mummy come home?"

"We miss her, Daddy," Johnnie added sadly. Greer, standing between her big brothers, simply nodded, gazing up at their dad.

Greg considered his children, reaching up unconsciously to scratch his head. "Well, I'm not exactly sure. Perhaps Uncle John would know better than I do. I suppose she'll be a couple more days, at least. Perhaps she'll be home for the weekend. She was very sick."

"Daddy," Greer finally said. "What's pneumonia?"

"It's what happens when mummies and sometimes daddies get sick and don't look after themselves," Johnnie said, with an exasperated huff. "If she'd listened to me and Scott, she might not have gotten so ill." Scott frowned in agreement with his brother and huffed as well, saying nothing but making his own opinion on the matter quite clear.

"Well," Greg said firmly, raising his eyebrows at his small doppleganger, "be that as it may, John William, Gregory Scott, I'm sure your mum has learned her lesson, and the next time she catches cold she might allow you to help her more." Greg had to stop himself from smiling while he was trying to be firm with them. The older his twin sons got, the clearer it seemed to become that they leaned towards a caregiving role, though at the same time, they seemed to crave excitement.

He knew at this point that Greer might very likely follow his footsteps into a career of policing, and likely even CID, eventually. But John and Scott seemed a bit… well, he wasn't quite sure. The best he could come up with was a guess that they may enter the emergency medical services field someday. That would be the most likely scenario to satisfy the excitement and the caregiving both that they seemed wired for. He had lost track of the number of times they had come to Greer's rescue when she'd gotten into a scrape – literally and figuratively both – one of them invariably carrying the small first aid kit as the brothers teamed up to bandage her wounds with surprisingly capable hands given their age, and soothe her damaged feelings with soft, firm words to reassure her.

But, they were small yet. Children tended to change their dreams frequently at that age, though his children DID seem to be rather determined and steadfast in their decisions. At this point, he wasn't sure that they had put any thought into what exactly they wanted to be when they grew up. Perhaps someday they would be able to define it, and put a title to it. Right now, Greg only had their natures to go by with his own opinions on the matter.

"So," Greer said, "pneumonia is like a very bad cold, then?"

"No, sister," Scott said. "Pneumonia is when a person's lungs…" He stopped. No need to frighten his baby sister. He and Johnnie had had enough of a fright themselves, though Daddy seemed just a bit less worried than they were. Perhaps he knew more than they did about it, and they always trusted Greg, and tried to follow his lead and his example. "Well, it's very bad," Scott finally said. "But Mummy is getting better."

"That's right, son," Greg said reassuringly. "Come on," he said, motioning them to the couch to sit with him. Settling down in the middle, Johnnie and Scott took their spots on either side of him, while Greer crawled into his lap. "Now it's true that mummy was very sick, but she's also very strong and very healthy otherwise, so her body was prepared to fight her illness. Now, when she comes home, we need to be very quiet for a day or two, and allow her to get plenty of rest."

"Do you suppose Mrs. Hudson might make her potato and leek soup, like she does when WE'RE sick?" Johnnie asked, hopefully.

"I'm quite sure Mrs. Hudson will do just that," Greg said with a small quiver at the corners of his mouth. Mrs. Hudson's soup was a favourite treat in the Lestrade household, Johnnie especially loving it. In fact, Greg would later find out, their grandmotherly landlady had even allowed Johnnie to help her make it a few times, teaching him how.

"Do you suppose she'll allow us to take care of her this time, daddy?" Scott asked, as he settled against Greg, snuggling into the one-armed embrace his father offered him.

"I think she would be very wise to do just that, son," Greg replied softly.

Greg had, in fact, already discussed that with his recovering wife, that day when he'd visited to check in on her. She had given him a tired smile of resignation, conceding that perhaps it would be best to let her children fawn over her for awhile, whether it was strictly necessary or not.

"They're destined to be heroes, our children, aren't they? Ordinary, everyday heroes. They've certainly the heart for it, don't they darling?" Molly, like Greg, had been thinking on what destiny may have in store for their twin sons, and also like Greg, Molly had come to the logical conclusion that perhaps one day they'd both be wearing a paramedic uniform. It would seem to be the only path that might satisfy their craving for excitement, and caregiving both.

"They certainly do," Greg had said, reaching over to take her hand. Giving it a squeeze, he gazed at her, thinking that his sons were right. "Look, sweetheart… I know it may seem a bit silly but you know they're going to be determined to nurse you back to health once you're home again. I really think you should just let them. They need to know you'll be alright, and they need to not just FEEL that they've done something to help you, but actually KNOW they have." Molly said nothing to this, merely nodding.

"Did you know that they've been practicing taking temperature on their sister?" Greg laughed softly. "She scowls at them fiercely but they know that with a thermometer lodged under her tongue she can't sass her way out of it."

"Oh?" Molly laughed quietly. "And what is their diagnoses then?"

"They've come to their professional conclusion that their sister is going to live forever. Based upon her temperature," he chuckled heartily. "Look, it's only for a few days," he said, more seriously. "They've actually got some rather sound ideas as to how to care for you. Please be patient if they lecture you. They've only their mummy in mind. Anyway based upon some of what they've been saying, I'm not entirely sure they're mistaken."

"Oh, WELL then, when you put it THAT way, Gregory," she said with a grin. "You might convince me if you were to kiss me, you know. I can be a hard sell. They DO say that doctors make shoddy patients."

Greg leaned in for a soft, casual kiss, then pulled back, smiling at her. "You're a pathologist, love. You do post-mortems. You were never THAT sick," he grinned, bringing his hand up to brush his thumb against her cheek.

"Well, I certainly felt as though I were, even if I wasn't. Oh Greg. Never again will I ignore my children when they're worried about me. They're a lot cleverer than we think they are," Molly admitted, sadly. "Oh, SO stupid."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much love," Greg said reassuringly, as he moved his hands down to take one of hers in both of his. He fiddled a bit with her wedding ring, seemingly lost in thought for a few moments. "We're raising them to be independent and strong. We've nobody to blame but ourselves if they have kind and determined hearts."

"Yes," Molly admitted, unable to stop a yawn. "Oh, I'm so sorry darling. I think I need to sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open."

"No worries," Greg replied, leaning down to kiss her cheek softly. "I have to go anyway, the boys are nearly done football practice. I'll be in touch. John thinks you may be a couple of days yet."

"Sounds about right," Molly answered, her eyes growing heavy. "He did say as much this morning when he checked in on me. He said my lungs are nearly clear and I should be home in time for the weekend. Perfect timing for my gorgeous little caregivers to nurse me back to health."

Greg chuckled softly at this, knowing Molly wasn't saying it in a glib way. She really was looking forward to making up for ignoring the concerns of her young, worried children.

Kind and determined hearts, indeed.


	90. Sam's Proposal

**Sam's Proposal**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, background, Greer and Sam_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, adult Sam_

* * *

Samuel McTavish took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush.

It wasn't that Greer's dad scared him. No… nothing like that.

Okay, maybe a bit like that. Just a bit, mind you.

Well alright, maybe just a bit more than a bit… and Sam knew it was completely and utterly illogical that he should feel that way.

Then again, it wasn't every day he was asking one of New Scotland Yard's finest for his daughter's hand in marriage. Sam briefly thought about the fact that if they'd all been Canadian, and Greg Lestrade in turn a higher ranking Member of the RCMP, he would have a service pistol in a holster on his hip.

In retrospect, Sam was glad that police officers in the UK didn't carry firearms.

Quickly, he pushed the thought out of his head. That thought was even more ridiculous than the fear he suddenly felt settling in his gut.

Nerves, Sam realized. He'd felt them his first day at school in Canada. He'd felt them his first day at the University of Saskatchewan, about to pursue his childhood dream to become a teacher, like his dad. And again, four years later, he would feel them as he stepped into his own classroom, embarking on a new chapter.

Asking Greg Lestrade for his daughter's hand was simply another major, life-changing event. No big deal, really.

Greer was a daddy's girl, she'd always been. She'd been that way when Sam first met her when they were little. She'd still been after he had moved to Canada with his parents to forge a new life in Saskatchewan, his dad taking on a position in a small town high school as a teacher.

When Greer had visited with her parents and her brothers, Sam hadn't felt fear, he'd only felt that home had come to visit him, before his new home had quite settled into his heart.

Even the times after that that they'd visited, and he'd begun to feel more and more at home in the Saskatchewan "lake and bush country," as the locals had called it, when Greer and her family were there, he felt a piece that had been missing had somehow returned to him.

But now, many years later, after gradually losing touch with Greer Lestrade, finding himself in adulthood, he had also found himself moving back to London, and back to her.

Reacquainting himself with his old home had meant reacquainting himself with the Lestrade family, and Greer in particular. Now, Greer was a proud member of New Scotland Yard, he found himself falling in love with this childhood friend he'd found again. Because of her job, he felt, simultaneously, gut wrenching fear for her day-to-day, and heart bursting pride that she was a true everyday hero.

Much like Greer had followed her dad's footsteps, Sam of course, had followed his own's. But, not once did it ever occur to Sam that perhaps Greer felt the same way about him, in his job as a school teacher. Not the fear for him, but the pride in what he did for a living, or rather, as Greer's Mum had referred to it as – "a calling."

But now the inevitable had happened.

Samuel had realized that he wanted to grow old with Greer. Maybe even start a family with her, if she was agreeable to it.

In short, Samuel McTavish wanted to marry her.

There was only one small obstacle.

Okay, maybe a large-ish one.

Okay. So... it was bloody huge.

* * *

Greg sat in his office, these days finding himself more focused on paperwork than field work, and finding himself to be increasingly content with that. He knew retirement wasn't that far off, but having learned long ago to set his own sense of pride aside for the sake of the job, Greg recognized that there were certain aspects of CID that were maybe not as exciting as field work, maybe not as likely to get the blood pumping and the adrenaline rushing… but was still equally satisfying, if you'd learned how to let it be.

He looked up as he heard a gentle knock, and smiled warmly as his daughter's boyfriend smiled nervously.

"Sam!" Greg declared, warmly. "Come on in, son. What's on your mind, lad?"

Sam cleared his throat, suddenly feeling paralysis of fear grip his voice.

"Ummm… Sir… I mean Mr. Lestrade… I mean… Damnit. I'm sorry. Bundle of nerves," he muttered, then more softly, mostly chastising himself, "Bloody brilliant McTavish. Great sell you're making here…"

Greg, however, had seen this coming a mile away, and had a decent guess as to why this young man was visiting him at the Yard, with Greer nowhere in sight.

"Mmmm hmmm," Greg commented, softly. "So, how is the new school year going? I'm told Danny quite likes you. He quite thinks you're the cat's pajamas," he chuckled."

"Oh, it's going… it's going quite well, thank you, Sir. Yes," Sam said, feeling a knot in his belly begin to loosen slightly, "Dan is a model student. Cheeky young bugger, but never in a disrespectful way."

"Sounds like Daniel Watson to a tee," Greg commented lightly. "He does speak highly of you. He said you have a way in the classroom. He appreciates that you treat your students like young adults. I believe he phrased it as something like, 'Mr. McTavish isn't a condescending jackass, like some of our other teachers.' I think he's beginning to take after John."

At this, Sam snorted loudly. "Well, I'm simply modeling myself after my own teachers, and my dad. Treat young adults as young adults in the classroom, and you have a mutual respect begin to develop, which in turn creates control in the classroom and students who are eager to learn from you, who want to please you. It's simple in theory really. It's worked for me thusfar."

Greg nodded at this. "Respect always begets respect, I agree. Good old fashioned values never seem to go out of style, do they?"

Sam, feeling much more at ease, gave the older man a half smile, as Greg spoke again. "So, what brings you here on this fine day, son? Because I'm going to make a couple of small guesses here," he said thoughtfully. Sam simply stared at him blankly, now so put at ease that he'd nearly forgotten why he had decided to visit Greer's dad at his office at NSY.

"You're here because you've something to ask me, am I correct?" Greg kept a straight face, simply nodding solemnly, his lips pursing slightly.

"Well… yes…" Sam admitted, with a nervous smile. Sliding his hand into his coat pocket, he wrapped his fingers around the small velvet box he had made a habit of carrying with him at all times.

"I'm also going to surmise that this has something to do with my daughter." At this, Sam coughed nervously.

One of Sam's special skills as a high school Industrial Arts teacher, as he had been known in Canada, was his ability to improvise and think on the fly – to problem solve, as it were.

Some of his students had even taken to calling him Mr. Mac – not because of his last name of "McTavish", but after their ultimate improvising television hero, "MacGyver." At first, Sam had been confused by the North American television icon. An hour or two one evening on YouTube had enlightened him, and made him appreciate the reference.

Not that Sam necessarily had a problem that needed solving, at the moment. Impulsively, he pulled the small box out of his pocket. Greg, noticing this, smiled to himself, feeling a warmth of pride in his chest growing.

"Sir… I was wondering if you might tell me if Greer might like this particular style of um… engagement ring?"

He handed the small box over to Greg, who glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and twitching mouth. As he opened the box, Greg recognized a style he knew Greer would love. The ring wasn't tiny by any stretch, but it was small enough to be practical. His daughter never was one for frivolities or material things. Greg gave a half nod, studying the ring more closely. The setting itself was inset and flush, and unlikely to hinder her every day activities in any way. Greg knew his daughter never wore jewelry that might catch on anything.

"Yes, Samuel," Greg smiled warmly, closing the small box and handing it back to the younger man. "That should do quite nicely. You have a firm grasp on her sense of style, I reckon. That will only serve you well in future."

"I had hoped so, yes" the young man admitted. He cleared his throat, improvising again. "Sir, you know Greer and I lost track of eachother for many years, but when we reunited last year, some old spark was… well it never really died, I don't think. Now that I'm back, we've managed to fan it for a bit. It's grown into something… warm, and comforting… something I want to spend the rest of my life savouring with Greer."

"Sir," Sam continued, "I was wondering then, if you would be agreeable to it, that is, if you would like very much… well… Sir, would you be my father-in-law?"

Greg, his eyebrows raised at this most unconventional proposal he'd probably ever heard – and he and Molly had become accidentally engaged after a minor row, so he was no stranger to odd proposals - and threw his head back, laughing heartily. "Samuel," he said warmly, "it would be an honour and a privilege to walk my daughter down the aisle and become your father-in-law."

Sam sat, suddenly staring blankly at Greg, seeing him, but really not noticing him.

"Samuel?" Greg asked, holding back a snicker.

"Sam?" he repeated, before shaking his head.

"YES, you may marry my daughter. In fact if you don't leave now and propose to her already, I'm going to summon her on the radio and tell her myself what your intentions are. I'm pretty sure that 'Little Love, will you marry Sam? Because I've just agreed to be his father-in-law and if you don't say yes things might get rather awkward?" isn't quite the proposal you had in mind, yeah?"

Sam blinked, shaking his head, before a huge grin if indescribable relief broke across his face.

"No need, Sir," he said, heaving the biggest sigh of relief he'd ever felt in his life. "Thank you, Sir… um... dad, if I may?"

"You may, Son," Greg chuckled. "Now go on, Greer's off duty in twenty minutes. She usually heads to the Oak to de-pressurize with a bevvy in the Nook. You might be able to head her off if you hurry. I'm not sure she'll be willing to leave a perfectly good pint on the table, even less so if it's a cup of coffee, and I'm not sure you want to ask her to marry you in a busy tavern."

"Not really," Sam said with a grin. "And our Greer hates to waste a good drink, no matter what it is. Thanks again, Si... um... dad. I'll um… I'll let you know what she says, yeah?"

Greg nodded, rising to his feet, cuing Sam to do the same. "Yeah, I think you've nothing to worry over., now go on, off you go," he said, gently shooing Sam out the door.


	91. Greer's Answer

**Greer's Answer**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Greer and Sam_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Adult Greer, Greg, Molly_

* * *

Greer, visiting her parents' flat at 221 Baker Street, and having spent the night in her old bedroom, joyfully got up early enough to wake her parents up.

She peered into their bedroom, finding them suitably positioned in their slumber for her morning's mission.

Crawling gingerly and with stealth she had developed in her time as a copper, and with years of practice on this particular mission, she plopped herself between her parents and heaved a great sigh. Placing a soft, unobtrusive kiss on her mother's cheek, Greer watched her for a moment as Molly's hand came up in her sleep to brush away whatever had just tickled her face.

Shifting carefully, Greer draped an arm across her dad's chest, propping her head up with her other arm. Thus, she patiently waited for Greg to wake up, while thoughtfully admiring the new adornment on her hand, there since just the day before.

"Little Love," Greg murmured, as he stirred. "This was fine when you were six, and even still marginally acceptable when you were twelve. I quite think you've outgrown it by now though?"

"Bollocks, Daddy," Greer giggled softly. "I'm never too big for THIS. It's breakfast time, Mum is sleeping soundly but you know the smell of my coffee and your bacon is guaranteed to get her out of bed."

Greg took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush. His daughter was right, of course. He knew she was right. Times like this, he hated how right she could be. It always ruined a bloody good lie-in with Molly.

"Besides," Greer pointed out, in a voice that remained hushed. "John and Josie, and Scott will be here in an hour. And Sam. We've an announcement to make, after all."

Greg groaned softly. Well, to be fair, he could probably use a trip to the loo soon anyway. And with a sleepy afterthought, he pondered that it was good his daughter had seen fit to say yes to Sam.

"Anyway, isn't it about time you shooed me away so you can get up to visit the loo?"

He rose an eyebrow at his grown daughter, who lay on her side serenely, giving him a cheeky look. Had her ritual really become SO routine that she even knew THAT?

Removing her arm from where she had it resting casually on her dad's chest, she allowed him to arise, grinning at him in triumph. Rolling over, she decided to spend the few moments waiting for him, waking her mother up in a similar manner. Draping her arm across Molly's waist in much the same way she'd done with Greg, Greer propped herself up on her left arm this time, concealing her hand.

"Mummy," Greer whispered softly. "Coffee. Canadian bacon. You know you want some… wakey wakey mum," she gently teased. Molly stirred, awakening before her eyes opened.

"My beautiful girl, which one of us bloody dolts raised you to be such a pain in the ass in the mornings?" Molly muttered as she slowly emerged from her slumber.

"Why, it was Daddy of course. Who else? You could NEVER teach me such scandalously bratty things."

Molly, now fully awake, turned her head to face her grown daughter. Smiling at her, she moved her hand to grasp Greer's. "This never gets old, darling. Never."

Greer leaned down to softly kiss her mother's cheek again. "Well that's good Mum… say… I've something to tell you. A bit of news, if you will…"

Molly frowned slightly, giving Greer a questioning look.

"Good news, or bad news?"

"Well, I suppose it depends… but as Daddy encouraged it when Sam talked to him yesterday… I suppose it's good news…" Greer cleared her throat softly, smiling at her mother. "Especially when the father of the bride not only approves... but actually accepts a proposal of father-in-law-hood from the groom."

Molly sat bolt upright, as Greer, anticipating this reaction, removed her arm and sat up herself, gazing intently and excitedly at her mother, her dark brown eyes dancing with joy.

"He's asked you to…? Greer! Oh my beautiful, beautiful girl. So Sam… he REALLY asked… you're getting married…?!"

"Well, he asked daddy first if he would be his father-in-law, and since dad said yes, it would have been rather awkward had I said no when Sam asked me to be his wife. Apparently my betrothed is quite gifted when it comes to improvising a situation to save his nerves. Sam told me he was scared shitless until he came up with that idea on the fly."

"Oh, Greer," Molly said, still trying to absorb the news. "Wait… is there a ring yet? Oh, let me see it, darling…"

Greer presented her left hand to Molly, who sat with tears springing to her eyes as she looked upon it. "Oh, it's PERFECT. He couldn't have chosen a better ring for you. Oh darling, I'm SO happy…"

Greer held her breath, hoping her mother would manage to avoid bursting into tears. But, as he had done countless times over the years, Greg saved it by calling out to summon his daughter to the kitchen.

"Coffee isn't making itself, Little Love," he shouted down the hallway.

"Brekkie calls, Mum. Come on then, I've been craving dad's bacon and bangers for a full week now. And Uncle John's muffins, oh please tell me we have some of those… Oh, and your eggs…"

Molly, now up and throwing on a robe, could think of little besides Greer's news, let alone breakfast.

However, watching her husband and their daughter in the kitchen as she poured herself a cup of coffee, Molly thought to herself that perhaps these mornings might be numbered now.

Oddly enough, she found herself not minding a single bit.


	92. A Perfect Compromise

**_A Perfect Compromise_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Greer and Sam, John and Josie, all background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Adults Greer, John, Scott; Greg and Molly_

* * *

"You know you're breakin' mum's heart, yeah?"

Greer glared at her big brother. "John, it's MY wedding, I can wear whatever the hell I bloody well please, and what I please is my Detective dress uniform."

"Greer Sherla," Scott said. "That's a cop-out and you bloody well know it."

The Lestrade twins shared a look before training their dark brown eyed gazes on their baby sister.

"WHAT?" Greer said defensively. "It's got a skirt. A SKIRT is a DRESS. Sort've. Anyway its Sam's wedding too and he doesn't care what I'm wearing, only that I'm there saying the I do's and the til death do us part's, and promising to grow old with him."

"Greer," Scott said, turning on his voice of reason tone. "Ever since you were a baby, mum has talked about going dress shopping with you someday. She's dreamed of it for your entire life, Sis," the younger twin said, contemplating his ale, before bringing his face up to gaze at her.

This was the hard part, Greer knew. Her darkly handsome brothers were dead ringers for their dad when he was their age, and looking at them inspired the same sort of guilt that she would have felt had it been him there in the Nook with her, discussing her wedding plans.

Scott looking at her with their dad's eyes, John taking on the thoughtful look he'd inherited, both of them smiling in that trademark Greg Lestrade way, were all enough to make Greer seriously rethink things.

"Dress shopping really isn't my thing," she pleaded quietly, almost guiltily. "It's really not my idea of a fun time. I'd much rather shop for flowers, and a caterer, and a venue, and the cake, and everything ELSE with Mum. Everyone always makes such a STUPID bloody FUSS about the damned dress. It's frivolity at its bloody WORST. It's just a massive wasted pile of white fabric that's overpriced and overrated, and will only be worn once."

A brief silence fell over the trio seated in the Nook.

"Worn once," Scott suddenly said. "Oh, baby sis, you are bloody BRILLIANT!"

Scott shared a look with John, as his face took on a look of sudden comprehension, the twin brothers realizing that they had once again spoken to each other without actually saying anything out loud.

"Bollocks, brother, I think we have a solution. But we need to make it work somehow… I wonder if Grace can help, she's a bloody genius when it comes to these things." John raised his glass of single malt and took a sip, his eyebrow raised in a most self-satisfied way.

"Well well, if you lot don't look like the cats that've stolen the cream," Greer said, swirling the scotch in her own glass. "Care to fill the bride in on your brilliant master plans?"

"What if there were a way for you to avoid breaking mum's heart, and avoid dress shopping at the same time?" Scott asked mysteriously.

"AND a way to surprise her and dad while you're at it? Mum is deeply disappointed but Dad is only resigned because above all else he loves you and wants your day to be one that'll make YOU happy. So I think this would be a wonderful way…" John said, with a crooked grin and a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"Oh, I'm all over that, big brothers," she said, at this point willing to listen to them.

"Now, the question is… well Sis, you're quite a lot taller than Mum, but I believe you're close to the same size otherwise…" Scott said, thoughtfully, the gears already turning in his head. "Close enough at least to be workable…"

"Grace will be able to tell us," John pointed out. "But I really think it's doable. It's going to take a hell of a lot of stealth, but it's definitely doable. I'll just bet Joey can tell us though," he said, summoning her over. "After all, she's a bridesmaid too," he said as if to definitively justify it.

Josie, having arrived at John's motioning, leaned in to listen briefly to her beloved's query as he whispered mysteriously in her ear. Nodding with a small grin, she studied Greer, top to bottom, much to Greer's confusion.

"Yes, Darling... I think it can work," Josie finally said, with a small smile and a nod. "I agree though, Grace would know for sure."

Over the coming weeks, many plans were made and discussed in the Nook at the Lestrade family's favourite pub. Josie, when busy on shift and unable to join them, watched in delight as dreams came together, as parents shed tears of joy, and a blushing bride-to-be kept a most wonderful secret with her two older brothers in a most delicate conspiracy, joined, on occasion, by various members of the wedding party (including Josie herself when the meetings happened at the tail end of her shift), and a young woman with tight jet black curls and stunning multi-coloured eyes, intent on sharing progress on a very special project.

* * *

When Greer and Sam's big day finally arrived, Greg and Molly stood outside with the groomsmen, waiting patiently for their sons to deliver their only daughter, and the rest of the wedding party.

It had been unusual to not be there to assist her to get dressed and ready, and Molly had been disappointed, but she had kept that Lestrade stiff upper lip, gained through marriage to the most determined man she knew - merely glad to be mother to a bride. It was only a minor thing, she told herself. Only a small part of one day in the whole of her daughter's life. Ciana, Rosie, Grace, and Josie had all been there, and Molly trusted them and their reasons.

Greg, prepared for his role and as was their tradition, had assisted Samuel with the usual advice that the best way to go about this day would be to dress up, show up, and shut up, seemed more content, though no less full of nervous energy than Molly was. Sam, for his part, had relaxed somewhat when he realized from the dancing, laughing dark brown eyes of his soon-to-be-father-in-law, that Greg HAD, in fact, been joking when he had warned the nervous groom that if he ever hurt his baby girl, Greg knew ALL the best spots to dig a shallow grave so it might not be found for YEARS – if ever.

When John and Scott finally pulled up, Greg and Molly fully expected to see their daughter emerge in her full Scotland Yard dress regalia. John emerged first, from the driver's seat, going up to his parents and taking them by their arms.

"Mum, Dad," he said softly, mysteriously, in a voice that was just beginning to take on a soft gravelly note like Greg's, "the bride requests that you turn around for a moment," gently placing his hands on their backs and sliding them down to their arms, urging them to do as he requested.

Returning to the car, he grinned at Scott and nodded as his barely younger brother opened the car door and offered a hand to their baby sister.

Greg and Molly shared a careful sideways glance to each other as they heard a gentle crunch of gravel beneath approaching feet.

"Mummy, Daddy," Greer said softly. "You can turn around now."

Greg and Molly took a deep breath, then did as their daughter requested.

Molly's hand flew to her mouth as the tears immediately sprung. "Oh, Greer," she said, with a joyful, breathless laugh. "You little scamp, my beautiful girl how did you manage this?"

Greg simply stared speechless for a few moments, gathering his wits about him. "Oh, my Little Love," he finally managed to breathe out, his gravelly voice barely above a whisper as it threatened to catch. He blinked at her several times, before finally opening his arms to her. "You are… I have no words, Greer."

"Damnit Dad, you're gonna make her cry. You know how much Greer hates crying in front of us," John said softly, his own voice threatening to catch. Beside him, Scott merely cleared his throat as he regained his own composure. Josie, escorting John as one of the bridesmaids, Grace Holmes, another bridesmaid, Rosie Bailey, and Ciana Anderson, serving as Greer's Maid of Honour, stood by, delicately coughing, in vain attempts to not mess their makeup before the official photos.

"Oh, it's alright," Greer said, brushing her brothers off as she pulled back from Greg's embrace. "It's a completely fair and reasonable reaction."

Before her parents, Greer stood. With a minor alteration here, and a lengthening there, a subtle letting out in a few places, and the addition of a few custom-made accessories to blend something old with something new (and something most decidedly borrowed as well), Grace Holmes had worked her seamstress magic.

Molly stood proud, and Greg breathless, as their daughter presented herself to them wearing Molly's own wedding dress.

The perfect compromise for a bride who hated dress shopping, but had decided that perhaps her Met dress blues wouldn't quite be the thing to get married in, after all.


	93. What Pepper Always Knew

**What Pepper Always Knew**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Rosie and Julian, both background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Rosie, cameo appearances by Goldie and Pepper_

* * *

Greg, out at Larkspur Lane for a ride with Rosie - he on Goldie and she on Pepper - took in his surroundings with a deep breath, and careful thought. As always, Greg rode easily, casually observant of their surroundings and ever watchful for lurking dangers, the reactions and temperaments of the familiar steeds he and Rosie rode, and his niece herself. For quite some time, the two had ridden in comfortable, companionable silence, and Rosie's apparent retreat into her own thoughts hadn't gone unnoticed by him.

"Something on your mind, Little Lass?" he finally asked, as Pepper walked easily beside Goldie. The jet black thoroughbred seemed entirely at ease with Rosie on his back, and the palomino Greg rode was wholly unconcerned with his companions for the afternoon. The large equine had fresh air, a gentle rider, and a stable companion he knew well and was at ease with, though occasionally he felt the urge to challenge him to a bit of a race. Today, however, Goldie was content to simply walk calmly beside his big thoroughbred stable mate, huffing gently.

Rosie, decked out in her full riding gear, glanced over to her Uncle, himself now fully kitted out when they rode. Rosie always noticed but pretended to ignore Auntie Molly's reaction whenever Uncle Greg donned his riding outfit in preparation for a trip out to Larkspur Lane with Rosie. The young girl found it all to be a bit sappy, though definitely sweet, and to be fair, in her own young girl's way, she did understand where Auntie Molly was coming from. She thought perhaps it must be similar to the funny fluttering feeling in her tummy and the silly smile she couldn't stop whenever she saw Jules in his football uniform, ready to take to the field for a match.

Rosie said nothing for a moment, averting her gaze back to the horizon, before turning back to Greg.

"Uncle, when you decided to be a policeman, when did you know, I mean REALLY know, that you REALLY REALLY wanted to be a policeman? I mean, that it wasn't just a fancy idea at the time and when you really thought about it later on, you knew you were right about wanting it? And you knew you'd be happy doing that?"

Greg took a deep breath, letting it out with puffed cheeks and a mildly perplexed expression. This was not a question he had ever expected to come from Rosie Watson. Rosamund Mary, who was always so sure of herself and any decision she made; who took action with few regrets because though she was quick to think and sometimes quicker still to act, she was rarely a girl to act in what might be considered to be foolish haste.

For a girl so young, John and Sherlock, with regular assistance from Mrs. Hudson and Molly, had raised her to be self-assured, and with a good head on her shoulders. Just a few short years later, when their small unconventional family had bit by bit, grown to include Greg, Sally, and Alex, Rosie's rearing took on an entire kaleidoscope of varied influences.

"Well, Lass… I'm not quite sure. I think I just knew that I knew. It wasn't something I could gauge, or pinpoint, really. I was just… I don't know. Happy with it. I was contented, and excited, and happy. I had no regrets, even when things weren't that easy. At the end of the day I was still contented with my choice."

Rosie giggled softly. "Then you ARE sure, Uncle," she commented lightly. "Why do people say they don't know something, and then proceed to prove that they actually DO know? It's such a silly thing that grown-ups do."

Greg chuckled at this, reaching down absently to stroke Goldie's neck. "I don't know that either, Rosie… Perhaps we just aren't sure of ourselves at first, until we really think about it, then we realize we're actually just a bit cleverer than we thought. And I've just done it again to prove the point, haven't I Lass?" Greg's laughter grew deeper at this while Rosie's giggling grew a bit more lighthearted.

"Sometimes you're the silliest grown-up of all, Uncle Greg," Rosie laughed. "Please don't ever change that," she commented.

"I'll certainly try not to," he replied. "So… back to the question at hand. Why do you ask how I knew?"

"I was just wondering, Uncle," Rosie replied, her giggling calming as her tone grew more serious. "I just want to be sure, I mean I'm sure now, at least I think I am. Oh BOTHER. Uncle, how will I know if becoming a nurse is what I REALLY want to do? It's such expense and trouble to go to, and takes so long. I don't want to start and then change my mind and not want to finish," she said sadly.

"Rosamund," Greg said thoughtfully, in a tone Rosie had long since come to recognize as her uncle about to impart words of wisdom and advice. "Do you remember when your dad, and Uncle Sherlock and I were so sick after eating from that dodgy food truck?"

Rosie winced hard. She remembered, oh, she remembered, and HOW.

Greg, watching her sideways, didn't wait for a verbal response to that.

"You divided your time between our three flats, you cared for your dad, you showed Greer how to do the same for me with a cool cloth, which by the way was exactly what I needed so thank you Lass," he added, almost as an afterthought. "You ran up and down the stairs changing out foul buckets and helping your mum and Aunties to look after all three of us, and you did it for HOURS, when nobody would have ever asked or expected a young girl to do all of that."

Rosie nodded, giving Greg a curious look.

"How did all of that make you feel? To look after three silly old men who were ill in such foul ways?"

"I didn't really think much about it, Uncle. I just… I don't' know, I just WANTED to. It felt good when you finally started feeling better. I felt as though I'd done something helpful for you. I was so tired though. It felt good to stretch out and cuddle up to daddy for a nap once he was getting better."

"Rosie," Greg said carefully, "I think, when you're older, and about to apply to nursing school, if you still feel that way, then you'll know."

"Do you think Jules will feel the same way about becoming a policeman?" Rosie asked, curiously.

"Julian will know when the time comes for him to know. But I think, now this is just my personal feeling on it, that someday, YEARS from now, Julian is going to be a top-notch copper. He might even lead his own CID team someday, like I do now, Lass."

"Really? You think so, Uncle? You know I'm only curious because he's going to marry me someday…" she said, whimsically.

Greg suppressed a burst of laughter. If the world fell down around their ears before sunrise, and life as they knew it ceased to exist, one known, unshakable fact would persevere to hold what little remained of the universe together – that Julian Bailey was going to marry Rosie Watson someday.

"I really do think so, Rosie," Greg responded, as Goldie snorted softly

As Pepper snorted in response, Rosie was silent for a few moments.

"Uncle Greg," Rosie asked again suddenly. "Do you think I'm silly for worrying about this now? I'm so young yet, this really is a grown-up worry, isn't it," she continued quietly, almost embarrassed.

"Ah, Lass, worries are never silly and if that's what's on your mind, it doesn't matter how young or old you are. I think it's good you're thinking about these things now. It means you're really serious about nursing. You've a lot of years left before you'll be ready to go to nursing school, but I don't think you should be dismissing those worries, if that's what's on your mind. Being young should never invalidate your concerns."

"Really?" Rosie asked, as she brought Pepper to a gentle halt. Greg, taking her cue, brought Goldie to a standstill beside the graceful thoroughbred gelding.

"Really," Greg said, smiling warmly. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're a strong and determined young lady, Rosie. You know your own mind and your own heart better than a lot of adults I've met know their own," he said, then turned his tone serious, his eyebrows raising slightly and his head turning downwards. "Of course, you've still a LOT of years to just enjoy being a kid."

"I guess," she said, giving Greg's hand a squeeze in return before he released it to take hold of his reins again. "But Uncle, you really think it doesn't hurt to think about these sorts of things now and then?"

"Of course not, Lass," Greg said reassuringly. "To be honest, I see those qualities in Julian as well. I think the two of you are quite well suited, which is quite a good thing, since he's going to marry you someday," he winked.

Rosie blushed and giggled.

"Yeah, he really is, isn't he?" she said wistfully, smiling into the horizon. "But right now, we both really love just being kids too. I love growing up with Jules. But I also love riding with YOU, Uncle. Do you suppose Pepper and Goldie might like a little run?"

"I think they might, yes," Greg replied, reaching down to stroke Goldie's sleek, strong neck. "They seem a bit restless just standing here. I think they'd like to vent a little steam, Pepper especially, he's born to run after all, now isn't he?"

"Yeah... he didn't have to THINK about wanting to run when he was a colt, I suppose, did he Uncle?. He just already KNEW it's what he'd love to do," Rosie replied, suddenly realizing a correlation between her own concerns and Pepper's inborn nature. "Maybe I was born to be a nurse, as well then," she said, sounding much more contented and at ease than she had been when she'd first asked, several minutes ago.

Greg said nothing at this, simply gazing down at her thoughtfully, the expression on his face turning serene. "Perhaps," he finally said warmly. "Right then, Little Lass" he said, taking a deep breath, letting it out in an anticipatory rush, "shall we let these two big boys out to play?"

Rosie, seeming a lot more relaxed now that she'd gotten her worries off her chest, laughed joyfully as she nodded. "Yes, Uncle, we shall!"


	94. Something About a Daughter

**Something About a Daughter**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Ensemble pairings, all background, at Greer and Sam's wedding_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, John, Sherlock_

* * *

Greg, father of the bride, proud new dad to a bouncing brand new son-in-law, and thoroughly knackered from the events of the day and three consecutive dances on what amounted to an empty belly – the bride, the bride's mother, and Ciana Jane, the maid of honour – sat down with a huff of relief, setting his freshly poured glass of ale down with a clink.

"You're glowing almost as much as Josie is," John observed lightly.

"Well, Greer, Molly, and Ciana are primed to celebrate. Me, not so much. God, lads, it's been a long bloody day. I'm tempted to cut out early and let Molly find my sorry-ass remains in the morning, face down on the pillow and sleeping like the dead."

"You must be working up an appetite then. At least as substantial as Josie's is of late," Sherlock said casually, his last few words echoing into his glass.

"Bloody starving," Greg said. "I barely had appetite this morning and now that the formalities are finished with, my nerves have settled and my belly's starting to think my throat's been cut. John, I know you understand, you've given a daughter away. Sherlock it's only a matter of time before Daniel and Grace get to this point. We all know it."

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement, John said nothing, only sharing a glance of agreement with Sherlock at Greg's casual observance.

"Indeed," John said.

"I wonder if Josie would like a little dance, then?" Sherlock said, returning the little elbow nudge from John with a little elbow nudge of his own.

"I'm sure she would, she's finally in good spirits today. Bollocks, she's been moody lately. I think she could do with a soda and lime, hold the vodka, and a damned big hug."

Greg turned slowly to look at the silly buggers he sat with. "Yes, I've figured it out too. I'm not stupid, you know. I've seen enough pregnant women in my day to recognize it a mile away."

His two companions merely raised their glasses. "Congratulations, Grandpa Greg," John said, with a bright grin. "May my namesake be as wonderful a father as you are."

"And you as well, Grandpa John," Greg said, raising his own glass. "What do you think, Sherlock? Can he rise to the challenge?"

"Hmmm… I think so, most assuredly," Sherlock replied softly, allowing his gaze to wander to Sally, dancing with Julian.

"Josie isn't as far along as Rosie is." Sherlock paused here, shrugging towards Greg.

"Still, she's glowing like a bloody yule log, John, what do you think?" Greg mused.

At this, John laughed out loud. "I think she's absolutely stunning and still I'm having a bit of trouble accepting this. Truthfully, maybe I'm just hedging a bit because Rosie's… well she's my little lamb."

"True enough," Greg acknowledged. "Your little lamb is also a married woman, John, and has been for quite some time now. I think it's just easier when a son is going to make you a grandparent than when a daughter is. There's just something about a daughter, isn't there?"

"Indeed. A daughter-in-law as well, apparently," Sherlock observed. "Well, nearly your daughter-in-law anyway. I give that two months, myself. I'm available for best man duties should Scott be unavailable. Just, you know… pointing that out."

"I've a sudden urge to dance with my little lamb," John said, wistfully, as he gazed over at Rosie, who now stood chatting with Emma and Kieran, her hand draped over her abdomen. They all looked over in time to see Julian saunter over, draping an arm around his wife, kissing her temple and whispering something into her ear.

"Go on then, I'll guard your drink," Sherlock urged, as John rose to take leave of them.

"You as well, Greg," he said, "You know I'm not a fan of bourbon, your beverage is safe with me. Give my regards to Josie, and tell Sherla I'll be around shortly for that dance she promised to her old Uncle."

"I will," Greg promised, as he rose to his feet.

"You know, Sherlock… it wouldn't hurt you to dance a few with Grace. I've noticed she loves a good dance, she obviously gets that from you. Take it while you can, mate. She'll not be your little girl forever. You can take our word on that." At this, Greg winked, as John, standing beside him observing, smiled and nodded in agreement.

Sherlock watched his two best friends depart, wondering whimsically if he really would someday be walking Grace down the aisle to give her away to Daniel Watson. He smiled briefly at the thought, then shook his head. The whole idea was ludicrously premature, after all. His baby girl was still just a baby. True, she was older than Daniel, but still. She had a lifetime to go yet before even thinking about marriage.

Yes though, he wholeheartedly agreed, thinking about it. There certainly was something about a daughter.


	95. Distant Plans

**Distant Plans**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Humour, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Greer and Sam, John and Josie, all background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Adults Greer, John, Sam_

* * *

"So," Greer mused, as she allowed John to lead her around the dance floor.

"Tell me big brother, have you and Josie any… OTHER plans?" she asked curiously.

"If you mean, do I mean to marry her… I haven't really put as much thought into it as I might have, no," John replied, gazing at this sister in their mum's wedding gown.

"And why ever not, John William Lestrade?" she teased lightly, dark brown eyes shining.

"Well… we only found out around the time the wedding preparations were being finalized, and it was a particularly busy time at work for me. Neither of us have had much time to even absorb the reality that we're having a baby… I would imagine later in the week when things have settled we'll better be able to take stock of things." John twirled Greer around and led her into a gentle dip.

"Well… see Sam and I were discussing it," Greer answered, as she tightened her grip on her older brother. "Of course we're all taking that group holiday to Saskatchewan in a few weeks. A delayed honeymoon and a sort of repetition of our vows for our family and friends in lake and bush country who weren't able to attend the real ceremony here in London…"

John gazed down at his sister, his expression increasingly curious.

"Greer Sherla Lestrade-McTavish. What are you up to?"

"Oh nothing, Johnnie, nothing at ALL. It's just that Sam and I were thinking, is all. You remember how beautiful the sunsets are on that beach… especially when the loons are on the lake… how utterly romantic they can be. Ask Mum and Dad, they love that beach, oh they made some memories there…"

John cleared his throat loudly. "Yes. Well. Thanks for the visual darling Sister."

Greer, single minded as always, noted her brother's reaction with more than a little bit of private satisfaction, but chose to openly disregard it otherwise. "I know a few couples where Sam grew up who were married there," she hinted slyly. "Of course, I'm not SUGGESTING anything. Perhaps Sam and I repeating our vows with all of us there for the benefit of our Canadian friends and family might be… inspirational. And convenient. And we could make a proper weekend of it."

"You're a scamp, little sister," John laughed lightly. "And you're as subtle as a bloody heart attack. I'll think about it, alright? Look, it's not that I don't want to marry Joey… it's just that it seems like it would be an awful lot for her to process. She's only just begun to adjust to pregnancy. She's a bit overwhelmed at the moment. And I don't want her to think I think she HAS to get married or that the baby is the only reason I'd be asking."

"Fair enough," the bride conceded, smiling. "Just bear in mind you have options and you have people willing to make it happen at literally a moment's notice with little to no stress or effort from either you or Josie. I know you John. I know your heart as well as I know Daddy's heart and Scott's too. All three of you are cut from the same cloth."

John sighed deeply. "You and mum, could never hide a damned thing from either of you. Hell hath no fury like a Lestrade female on a bloody mission," he laughed sardonically. "YES, then. I want to marry her." Greer noted how her big brother's deep brown eyes suddenly glistened with adoration for Josie. "I want our baby to grow up knowing his mum and him were important enough to his dad to make them family, legally and officially. We can easily raise family and grow old together without being married, of course."

Greer snickered. "Yes, you could. But that's not really what you want, is it? You know that level of commitment is important and meaningful. It tells her she's not your option, she's your choice, always and forever, you choose her and your children."

"Exactly, Greer," John replied softly. "Mum's heart and Dad's wisdom. You've always had that."

"So've you and Scott," Greer smiled, bringing her hand up to pat his cheek. "So then, if you ask her, and if she says yes, run it past her. We can make this happen John, I've already said it. No effort from you, she's exhausted already so we can all do the grunt work."

"Saskatchewan, you say then," her big brother said whimsically. "I remember Saskatchewan. More trees than I'd ever seen in my life and have ever seen since. Every time of the year is beautiful where Sam grew up. Haven't been back there in years. I think Joey would love it, really... So you're seriously suggesting…"

"YES, I am seriously suggesting," Greer insisted gently, bringing her hand up to place on John's cheek. "And not just me. My husband is quite agreeable, in fact it was mostly HIS idea. Come on, let's make this special for Jose. Come on," she nudged, knowing her brothers were putty in her hands in those brief hours she was a blushing bride. "You know you want to, John William Lestrade."

John said nothing to this, merely dancing his sister over towards where he had spotted Uncle Phillip and Auntie Jackie visiting with Scott and his date for the evening.

"Word has it Uncle Phillip hasn't had a dance with the bride yet. After all, it was his daughter who served as your maid of honour," he said lightly, with a small grin.

"You're deflecting," Greer said, flatly. "But as it's MY wedding and I can do whatever I bloody well please, I'll allow it, because it pleases me to do so. But DO give it thought, Johnnie. Please?"

John smiled at his sister, then glanced over to where his Joey was sitting with Ciana and Rosie. "I will. I promise I will."

Later, when Samuel had managed to wrangle his bride from her adoring family and friends, he pressed in close to her, nuzzling her neck and whispering to her softly.

"So, my beautiful wife, we have a date in a few weeks on a certain beach in a certain province with certain absentee loved ones. Tell me then Love, are we planning another celebration as well?"

Greer pulled back to look at Sam, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek and stroke his cupid's bow with her thumb.

"I can't be sure yet, but I think so." Greer smiled at him. "Perhaps we might start preliminary preparations… you know, just in case."

"Just in case," Sam laughed. "Indeed!"

"Is a Lestrade ever wrong?" Greer asked, winking.

Sam had nothing to say to this, other than, "I can't speak for all of them, but I know MY Lestrade isn't," he murmured, as he leaned in for a kiss.


	96. An Exceptionally Patient Man

**An Exceptionally Patient Man**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Greer and Sam, John and Josie, all background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Adult Scott, Josie, John discussed_

* * *

Gregory Scott Lestrade was patient. In fact, one might argue, with his cool headedness, he might even be the more patient of the duo he had been half of since the moment he and John had been conceived..

One might argue he was patient to a fault; but Scott had discovered in his and John's time with the London Ambulance Service, that sometimes that patience was the best thing for them.

In truth, Scott had met Josie before John did. But rather than feel romantic attraction, Scott had felt drawn to Josie in a strongly platonic way. There was just something about the young bar waitress, and Scott could never quite shake the feeling that she was going to become very special to the Lestrade family, very soon.

They, in fact, would prove to become dear friends, just as John's presence would take the forefront for Josie. Scott didn't mind… in fact, he encouraged it. He saw it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity – one he had patience for.

"How are you feeling these days, Jose?" Scott asked, as he danced her around the floor. Contentedly, he glanced around, spotting his sister dancing with her groom.

"Like I could eat a horse and then throw it right back up again," Josie replied, sadly. "I've never been happier, but…" she said, her voice beginning to quiver, "Still…"

"Aw Jose," Scott said, pulling her a bit closer. "I'm sorry my mean randy older brother has done this to you," – at this, Josie giggled softly, knowing Scott was only teasing - "but I assure you, we're all pleased as punch and we can't wait to meet this little lad. Or lass. Whichever," Scott laughed softly.

"I know," she said, tears beginning to fall. "I'm just so tired these days… and I feel so…"

"Ill? Soda crackers and ginger ale. Tired? Never hesitate, you know if John is on shift, depending on the day there may be a slight chance I'm not, nor is Greer. Or mum and dad. Oh Jose, you've gotten yourself tangled up into a family who loves you fiercely, my dear sister," he said, hugging her tightly.

Josie stopped moving, allowing herself to collapse briefly into her unofficial brother-in-law's embrace. She listened to his words, trying to accept them as best she could. But she was so tired these days, and worried that John was only there because she was pregnant.

"No worries, Jose," Scott soothed her. "John loves you more than you know. You know he's spoken lately of how excited he is for this baby, and to raise him with you. Or her," Scott laughed softly. "Truthfully I don't care myself. Niece or nephew, there's plenty of mischief to get into with old Uncle Scott at the helm. I've plenty of patience either way."

Josie, bolstered enough to smile at this, gently swatted Scott's arm.

"You cheeky bastard," she chided, sniffing away what she hoped would be the last of her tears for the evening. "I can always count on you, can't I?

"Yeah, you can. Always and forever. I'll vow it right here and right now if I have to," Scott promised solemnly. "If God forbid anything were to happen to John… you have me. And you can count on Greer as well, and Sam, and on Mum and Dad. Oh but Josephine, most of all you can count on John, he isn't going anywhere. I've seen plenty of glowing expectant mothers in my time as a paramedic, but I've never seen and expectant FATHER glow. Blimey, my brother is lit up like a glow worm! But you know what, Jose?"

Josie gazed up at him, shaking her head slightly, waiting for him to continue speaking.

"My brother has been glowing ever since the two of you first met. I don't think I've seen a man more in love with a woman since recognizing it in my own dad. Whenever he looks at Mum, it's right there. John has that same look when you're in the room." He leaned his head down, placing a small reassuring kiss on her head.

"This baby has me knackered already," she said, leaning against him. "Maybe one day, do you think…" she hesitated, "do you think maybe… John might…?"

"Marry you? Yes, actually, I think he might. Look, I'm not John but he's my twin. We were conceived at the same time, we've even confirmed we're identical twins and not fraternal, which means we even share the same DNA. Genetically speaking, I'm John and John is me, and believe me, John wants to make you family, to prove to you he wants to."

Scott would leave their conversation at that, merely holding Josie patiently, closely, and protectively, wordlessly letting her know that she was his little sister just as much as Greer was.

But deep down, Gregory Scott Lestrade knew that in a few short weeks, this glowing lass he danced with would be his sister-in-law, officially and completely. He didn't know the details, or understand how or why he knew this exactly, but he knew nonetheless. Mentally, he chalked it up to that strange connection that twins were so often known for sharing. He and John had never been an exception to that particular phenomenon.

They might break tradition with Josie's own father unable to attend, and her mother since passed on.

For Greg to give the bride away to his own son might prove a bit… awkward.

Scott, however, had no qualms about giving this dear friend of his away to his brother, that they would become family.

But, this was a story weeks yet in the making. Scott had time, as much time as necessary.

He was, after all, an exceptionally patient man.


	97. A Happy Band of Conspirators

**A Happy Band of Conspirators**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Greer and Sam, John and Josie_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Lestrade family ensemble in The Nook_

* * *

"Oh, sod it," Josie declared, as she sat down in The Nook next to John. "This shift has been absolutely interminable," she sighed heavily. John wrapped an arm around her shoulder, leaning in to kiss her tenderly on her temple, easily bearing the weight of her leaning against him, exhausted. He smiled as small tendrils of hair, having freed themselves from her messy bun, tickled his nose.

"Just another half hour, darling," he said softly. "Then you can join us here and tell us all about your day. We're all saving the juicy bits of ours for when you're with us," John winked.

"You're nothing but a tease, John William Lestrade," she protested, her annoyance betrayed with a smile. "Well bugger it anyway, I see I have another customer. Duty calls," she said heavily, heaving herself to her feet.

John smiled after her, as his family watched him watching her.

"So," Molly said. "Where were we…"

"Something about the dress, I believe, Love," Greg said, suppressing a yawn. Greg, as everyone had known for years, had long held the belief that a groom was best advised to simply dress up, show up, and shut up. He knew, of course, that it was better for the groom to participate and show interest in the big day that was, in truth, about him as well.

However, while he had agreed to minor participation in his own wedding, he had largely simply given Molly free rein, knowing full well that they were HER dreams that needed fulfilling, not his. Greg's sole dream in the matter was simply to marry the woman he loved, and to witness her blushing and full of joy on a day she'd looked forward to for nearly her entire lifetime.

For Greg, "dressing up, showing up, and shutting up" was his way of standing back and basking in his bride's utter contented happiness in the day.

"Ah yes, the dress," Molly said. "You know darling, you might at least PRETEND to be interested in all of this. After all, it's YOUR son's bride's surprise we're planning." She teased him gently, poking him in the arm with a finger.

"And it's YOUR new daughter-in-law who you're deciding everything for, Love. It's been my experience that most brides like to have a say in their big day. It all seems like it could be a bit awkward, is all."

"Oh sod it, Dad," Greer chided softly. "You know as well as the rest of us how tired and overwhelmed Josie has been these past weeks. She only wants two things right now. She wants to have a healthy, strong, happy baby, and she wants to marry John. She just doesn't know that the latter will be happening a lot sooner than she ever dreamed. THAT'S why I've been taking notes and sneaking about, like a good little Detective Constable…" she trailed off, as she pulled out a notebook.

Greg rolled his eyes as he gave his daughter a crooked grin. He really, honestly DID know better than to try to argue with a woman on a mission to plan a wedding.

Especially if said woman bore the surname of "Lestrade".

"John, can you confirm these numbers?" Greer asked, handing her notebook over to her brother.

John glanced at them. "Hmmm… yes, more or less. Shoe size is correct, I see you're compensating for possible swelling and convenience walking in sand with the style of shoe. You've also got her dress size right, again, compensating for physiological changes and such… the style is flattering and forgiving as well."

"Now," Scott said, "I've been scouting out rings. If I know you and Josie as well as I think I do, these should suit quite nicely," he commented. Bringing up an image on his phone, he passed it over to John.

"Oh… my. Oh, Scottie," John said, his voice growing quiet. "Yes. And my ring… it's absolutely perfect. When will the set be available? I was hoping to propose… well, very soon. I want her to enjoy the promise for awhile before springing a full-fledged marriage on her," John laughed lightly.

"Should be ready to pick up day after tomorrow," Scott confirmed. "Yes, I already ordered it. We both knew I'd be right anyway, brother," he chuckled, "and let's be honest. We both knew I'd know you wanted to pop the question before the week is out."

"Now, I've been emailing with the local florist in the nearby town to the park itself," Molly said. "I've been reassured that the only other wedding she's doing flowers for that weekend is Greer and Sam's repeat ceremony. Fortunately she remembers Greer quite well, apparently they've been out for drinks once or twice to the local tavern."

Greer nodded, remembering easily. "Ah yes. Anna Marie. She has a beautifully quaint little gift shop as well. She grew up in the area. I would imagine that the only way she might be unexpectedly busy would be if she had a funeral to provide flowers for, last minute."

Greg sighed, hoping this was going to be alright with Josie. The poor girl was already under a lot of stress. Having a wedding sprung on her could go very, very well, or it could go irretrievably sideways.

"I've also been in contact with some other friends there. Dad, do you remember when we attended that community event, and it was catered by a local church ladies group? Well, their group secretary/treasurer has told me that they aren't booked for any other catering events that weekend, so they're available to provide for the reception."

"Yes, actually. I believe it was the Anglican ladies? Or were they Presbyterian… Wait… no… they were Lutheran?" Greg's brow furrowed slightly at his attempts to remember the denomination of the group who had served up a meal fit for a king.

"Right the third time, darling," Molly said casually. They're Lutheran. So the Basement Ladies are booked then?"

"Yes, Mrs. Nelson confirmed it. Apparently she and Sam's mum are in the same Thursday evening five pin bowling league," Greer confirmed. "She also said that if anything else comes up, the Catholic Women's League or the Kinettes ladies will take those bookings. No worries."

"Um, Dad," John suddenly said, "I was wondering… well normally of course I would have had Scott stand up for me as my best man, but he's giving Joey away… I don't suppose… well Dad, will YOU be my best man?"

Greg blinked.

Well, THAT was unexpected.

Greg knew John had planned to have Scott give his bride away, but hadn't thought much about who his oldest son had intended to ask to be his best man.

"Of course, Son," he said softly, smiling. "I'll not give a speech though. I might suggest Scott do that as he would have been your original choice."

"Thought you might say that, Dad," Scott chuckled. "No worries, I've got it handled. We'll be sort've… CO-best men then, yeah?" He held his glass up to clink with Greg's as the two men sealed the deal.

"Well, other than music, which we were going to do ourselves, I think we're set as much as we can be," John said, sounding relieved. "Dad… you still seem a bit skeptical?"

Greg cleared his throat. "No, son… not really skeptical, I'm just concerned, that's all. I might do a little chatting with Josie on my own, see if I can't get her take on weddings and such. If nothing else it'll tell me if we're on the right track."

"I think you'll find we are, Dad," Scott said, taking a sip from his glass. "But perhaps you might glean a few finer details. Small things she'll notice that might make the day that much more special. Finishing touches, as it were."

"Right then, will do," Greg said, finally smiling. "I guess I just need to know this isn't going to go pear-shaped. I suppose as long as we make sure they're HER ideas and dreams, it doesn't much matter who arranges them, as long as we get them right."

"THAT'S the spirit, darling," Molly said, sounding happy and relieved. Leaning over, she kissed him softly. "So, best and worst of the day that does NOT involve planning a beautiful Saskatchewan beach wedding on the sly… Josie is due to join us in a few minutes, we should probably clear the mental slates so nothing slips out…"

"Already cleared, Mum," Greer said. "So are we ready for refills? I might go order then help Jose bring them back to the table. We'll all have another of the same?"

Nods of confirmation were followed by the happy band of conspirators gazing across the bar as Greer joined Josie.

John glanced over, smiling softly, as he watched Josie speak with his sister. He couldn't wait for all of these plans to come together, but most of all, he couldn't wait to see his Joey, standing in front of him while the Saskatchewan sun, reflecting off the lake, set behind them.


	98. Thanksgiving

**Thanksgiving**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, others background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Johnnie, Scott, Greer_

* * *

"You know what I was thinking, darling," Molly said one evening, as she and Greg curled up on the sofa.

Greg, multitasking between watching their three children play a board game on the floor, keeping an eye on the match on the telly, and copping the occasional VERY subtle feel on his wife, snuzzled her neck, murmuring, "What's that, Love?"

"Well, the McTavish's are going to be here in two weeks, FOR two weeks, and if memory serves, in Canada they celebrate Thanksgiving in October. If I'm not mistaken that will fall right in the middle of their holiday with us."

"Oh?" Greg said, his attention fully brought to the memory of their first Canadian Thanksgiving, courtesy of the Lutheran Church ladies in the small lakeside town Chris and Amy McTavish had settled in with their son Sam.

The timing of their visit that year had just happened to coincide with what they quickly came to know to be a delectable small town tradition in Canada – The "Fall Supper".

Alternatively, it was known as a "Fowl Supper", but in either case, rather than waste visiting time in the kitchen, the McTavish's had opted instead that year to support a local church ladies group and treat their fellow Brits to a feast.

"Are you suggesting a Baker Street Thanksgiving, Love?"

Molly laughed softly. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting. We could have everyone here, just like we do at Christmas. I know you can handle the bird and the stuffing, and I'm sure I can handle the side dishes. If we talk nicely to John perhaps he'll do some baking…"

"If John wants to share those duties with Mrs. Hudson, if she's willing, I'm sure we'd have all the baking we could ever need," Greg said thoughtfully. Molly smiled, knowing it had taken no effort whatsoever to get her husband on board with her idea. "Sherlock has been learning, slowly, I'm sure he can peel a few potatoes, and Sally is a genius with a pie.

"Daddy," a small voice asked, hopefully.

Greg turned to look into the intrigued, shining eyes of his son.

"Yes, Scottie?" he replied lightly.

"Did I hear someone say Canadian Thanksgiving? And you might cook?"

"Don't be silly, Scott," Greer gently chided. "Of course you heard that. We all did. Can we help, Mummy?"

"There must be SOMETHING we can do?" Johnnie asked sweetly.

"Will it be roast turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy and…" Scott trailed off, losing himself in a delectable memory. "No, what I meant to say was, shouldn't one of us supervise Uncle Sherlock?"

"Yes, Son," Molly replied. "Those things and more. Everything we had in Saskatchewan. And I think supervising Uncle Sherlock would be a very good idea. Are you volunteering, Scott?"

Scott smiled. For some reason, of his uncles, it had been Sherlock he'd bonded with more than Uncle John. Uncle Sherlock had been there to comfort him and speak to him plainly but gently when they had thought Toby had died, but when Scott had asked questions, Uncle Sherlock hadn't held back either.

"Yes, I think I might. Shall I have the first aid kit handy? You know I'm very good at that sort of thing…"

"You and John are both very good at it," Greg said plainly. "Perhaps you might both be on call?"

John beamed at this. "We'll BOTH watch after Uncle Sherlock," John promised. At this, Scott turned to his brother, nodding affirmatively.

"Oh, I can taste that stuffing already," Molly smiled, dreamily...


	99. La Vita Nuova

**_La Vita Nuova_**

 ** _Genre:_** _FUTURE FIC, Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _All background_

 _ **Main characters:** Greer, Josie, the rest ensemble_

* * *

The beach was quiet still, and peaceful - the steady stream in and out of the park, of locals and out-of-towners alike, having not yet begun for the season. Wildlife had begun to stir and return; the deciduous trees had sprung back to life there on the lower edge of the Boreal, their new leaves giving a fresh green hue to the previously dull brown landscape peppered by the year-round green of spruce and pine. It was late Spring in Saskatchewan - still just a bit prior to the regional park opening for the season.

Special arrangements had been made with the Park Board of directors, but given that two of them were friends with the McTavish family and knew the Lestrades quite well also, and one of them was furthermore the mother of a close local friend of Greer's, there hadn't been much trouble booking the beach for this small occasion.

The Lestrade and McTavish families had the place to themselves for Greer and Sam's second ceremony, gathering their Canadian contingent to join them in their joyous celebration.

The next day, with the same family and friends gathered, an exhausted yet ecstatic young bride took a deep breath in front of a mirror in a rustic rented cabin.

"I can't believe you've managed ALL of this," Josie said, softly. Greer looked at her and thought she positively glowed.

Molly felt the same way, as did Rosie Bailey, and Ciana Anderson. Johnnie would be FLOORED.

"HOW did you manage to… I mean this is everything. EVERYTHING I could have ever dreamed of."

"Stealth," Molly said, as she adjusted Josie's dress from the back. Grace, watching Molly, stepped in with a needle and thread to finish the last-minute alteration.

"Sneaky as hell," Greer said. "And you have a betrothed who loves you more than anything and wanted you to have a stress-free dream wedding. Once Dad was on board the plans seemed to go rather well, I'd say."

"Greg?" Josie asked curiously, as she slipped into the dressy yet practical sandals chosen for the occasion. "You mean, he wasn't on board?" Josie sounded concerned, all of a sudden.

"Well," Molly said reassuringly, "It's not that he wasn't agreeable to you marrying our son, of COURSE he can't wait for you to be our daughter… it's just that he was a bit skeptical at us planning your wedding day without any input from you. He had a valid point, of course."

"Daddy was just a bit concerned, Jose," Greer said softly. "He was of the wise and correct opinion that a bride as a rule likes to have a say in her big day."

"Well, he's right, she does," Josie said, "I mean I do. I WOULD have. But either I'm far too clichéd or I'm just boring and predictable, because you've gotten it all right. All of it," she said, her voice beginning to break. "You've even thought of things I wouldn't have been able to, damn this pregnancy brain..."

"Oh, now Love," Rosie said softly, bringing a tissue to her. "Don't start because you'll get ME started. We're hormonal enough as it is, we two. I swear Jules has the patience of a bloody saint most days."

"Julian just lets fear and common sense rule the roost," Greer said lightly, winking at Rosie. "Trust me on this, the man confides in me, and he's tired enough at the end of shift of GIVING orders that he's more than happy to sit back and take them... And that's all I'll say in the matter, other than he is positively over the moon with excitement. And just so you know," she said, turning to Josie, "those 'little things' were finishing touches Dad picked up on from talking to you. He went from the worlds biggest skeptic to the world's sneakiest bloody wedding planner. NO word of a lie!"

Josie cleared her throat, allowing herself several moments to compose herself. She blinked as they heard a soft knocking on the door.

"Are the ladies all decent?" Scott called out, in a voice that, like Johnnie's, was sounding more and more like their father's all the time. "Wouldn't want to cause any embarrassment, mind, what with this all being posted live video to social media…"

"Don't you DARE, Gregory Scott," Molly called out, as she opened the door. "You're not too big to turn over my knee, you know."

"I am actually, Mum, but point taken," he said, as he entered the cabin and leaned down to kiss Molly on the cheek.

"Is there anything I need to know?" Josie asked, finally composed.

"Well, the shit hawks are back but nobody's around for them to scavenge garbage from yet…" Greer replied lightly. "So not too many worries about "enhancements" to our outfits.

Everyone whose surname wasn't "Lestrade" gave a look of confused amusement to Greer.

"Gulls. They're the goat of the local ornithological… oh never mind," she sighed, with a sideways grin.

"Does Dad have his speech sorted yet?" Greer asked, suddenly, changing the topic as smoothly as breathing. Scott grinned at this with a nod.

"He's cheated, but I think he's done marvelously. He's stolen poetry, would you believe? He snagged it off the internet. Dante of all people too!"

"Dante?" Molly asked, suddenly concerned. "As in 'Inferno' Dante?" She frowned. "Oh bollocks…"

* * *

Later that day, when the vows had been said, and the sand had been brushed out from between toes, and the hair straightened from the breeze coming from the lake, the wedding party and guests had settled in at the local country hall known quaintly as "Spruce Grove Hall".

Greg, as John's best man, cleared his throat into the microphone. He never did like public speaking, but this was special. He had already steeled himself to suck it up and take it like a man.

"I'd like to begin by congratulating my and Molly's son, John William, on his most excellent choice of partner. Josephine," Greg said sincerely, smiling warmly at the bride, "you are family, Josie. You have been for a very, very long time, long before today. But as for my son, and for you, if I may be so bold, I would like to quote someone who is perhaps known for darker pieces. In this case, however, I think, his words are appropriate."

Scott, co-best man, shared a look with his brother, who simply shrugged his shoulders. Scott smiled, guessing their dad hadn't shared that detail with anyone but him.

Both looked to their uncles John, Sherlock, and Phillip, receiving only perplexed expressions in return.

"The author is Dante Alighieri, and he is perhaps more commonly known simply as Dante, and for "Inferno". Yeah, how's THAT for perfect joyous wedding fare!"

This drew light laughter from the small group gathered, before Greg took a deep breath to continue. "However, in this case, Dante's composition is called 'La Vita Nuova'. It was written in the 13th century."

Greg cleared his throat, looking then at first John, and then Josie.

 _"_ _In that book which is my memory,"_ Greg spoke clearly, _"on the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you, appear the words, 'Here begins a new life.'."_

At this, Greg shared a look and a smile with Molly, while John Watson shared one with Alex, and Sherlock one with Sally (though in their case, it was accompanied with a shrug that seemed to clearly convey, "meh, who knew?")

"I believe most of us here can relate to that," Greg continued, as he noticed Rosie and Julian sharing the look, as well as Greer and Sam.

"But tonight," Greg said with a smile, "here in this beautiful rustic north-central Saskatchewan setting we've all fallen in love with long before today, we celebrate two people who also fell in love long before today - the day on which they began 'a new life."


	100. One Girl, One Boy

**_Author's Note: I just now realized this is Chapter 100. I know I don't have many readers for this but for the small handful who have caught on and hung on, I thank you sincerely. The chapters have come to a crawl the past four weeks due to my dad's sudden death and the subsequent distractions dealing with his estate, full time work, etc. But there is a new bunny hopping thanks to my friend MissD721. So to the two or three of you who follow this, thank you for your patience!_**

* * *

 ** _One Girl, One Boy_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Johnnie and Josie, Rosie and Julian, others background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, John, Sherlock_

* * *

"I know what you're having," Sherlock said casually, as he sat down at the table in 221B with Greg and John.

"Which who?" John asked. "We're both to be grandparents, which of us are you talking about, and what do you mean you know…?"

"Both of you. One a granddaughter, no doubt as beautiful as her mother and as clever as her father. The other a grandson, unquestionably as handsome as his father and as intelligent as his mother. Both will be strong, and brave, and will make us all proud, but the two of you most especially."

"Your deductions are about as useful as a leaky life boat, mate," John huffed. He glanced at Greg, who merely shrugged. As Greg offered the plate of biscuits Kieran had left behind the the day before when he and Emma had visited for tea, John took one gratefully.

"I think you're pissing in our ears and telling us it's raining, Sherlock," Greg said casually, as he bit into a coconut oatmeal biscuit that John had baked that morning. He closed his eyes briefly in sheer bliss as he chewed. Swallowing, he continued, "there's no possible way you could know what Rosie and Josie are each having. Unless you've either seen the scans, or charmed the girls into telling you."

"I once proposed to a woman to gain access to an office," Sherlock said, as he bit into his fourth ginger nut. "Successfully, I might add," Sherlock reminded the DCI. "I also remind you that I once convinced Molly to lie for me for two years to cover up my… NOT-so-dead death. I may be older and none the wiser, but I still have a certain way of charming the female persuasion."

"Well, I've my own theory on this," John theorized with a smug expression. "I think they felt sorry for their old Uncle Sherlock and took mercy on you. They probably couldn't stand the puppy-dog look you were giving them any longer so they caved." John winked at his best friend as he rose to retrieve the coffee pot.

"Mock all you want, John, but it's bloody effective. YES then. I haven't deduced anything. Rosie and Josie have told me. One a girl, one a boy."

"Are you going to enlighten us then, O Clever One?" Greg asked, as he leaned back in his chair. He brought his ankle up to his knee and smiled innocently at Sherlock.

John cleared his throat and sat back himself, crossing his arms. He gazed at Sherlock expectantly, taking only a moment to raise a knowing eyebrow and grin at Greg.

"Well now, don't make ME do all the grunt work, gentlemen," the consulting detective protested. "Who of my nieces and nephews would I be so blatantly biased as to call the most beautiful and most handsome of them all? NOT to exclude Greer and Daniel, and of course Scott. But THEY aren't having children just yet. At least, as far as I'm aware Greer and Sam aren't, and I certainly hope Daniel isn't, as that would be with MY daughter. Scott doesn't count as he's John's identical twin."

John rolled his eyes as Greg sighed heavily. "WE haven't even seen the scans yet, you bloody git. So given that we're speaking of my daughter and Greg's son, I suppose we can safely conclude that Rosie and Julian are to have a girl, and John and Josie a boy?"

Greg coughed lightly. "Actually John, I HAVE seen them. Briefly, but I've seen them. Molly was looking at them on her tablet and thought I was fully engrossed in the footy match on the telly. I may have peeked over her shoulder on the pretense of nibbling on her…"

"We GET IT, Greg," Sherlock rolled his eyes, though secretly thinking it wasn't SUCH a bad idea. He himself had been using the same trick on Sally for years, more or less.

"Oh bloody LOVELY then," John huffed. "So you're saying that I'M the only one who hasn't seen them?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say THAT necessarily, John. I don't believe Anthea has seen them yet… though Mycroft may have." Sherlock smiled impishly into his tea cup.

"Oh, sod off you lanky bastard," he sneered. "I need something stronger. Greg? Beer or scotch?"

Greg only seemed to think a moment on this. "Beer, thanks."

"So then. What will be their names?" Greg challenged. He had heard a few ideas thrown about – Rosie on their horseback rides out to Larkspur Lane – now increased in frequency as Rosie knew their chances would be numbered soon, before a long hiatus, and Josie in The Nook while they waited for the rest of the Lestrade clan to join them.

"No idea," Sherlock admitted quickly. "Time will tell, though the obvious choices have been taken. Some of them more than once. If pressed, I might suppose an Irish influence from either of them, given Josie and Julian's heritage. Perhaps Doyle, or Bailey, or Riley perhaps. Patrick, or rather Patricia is likely as it's Kieran's middle name, or perhaps Kieran might come into play somehow. Siobhan for a girl wouldn't surprise me. Or Kathleen, I believe that's Molly's middle name. Beyond that I couldn't even begin to guess."

"Look at that then, would you Greg?" John laughed heartily. "The Great Detective himself spews off more than a half dozen suggestions, then declares himself stumped!"

Greg nodded in John's direction, his head bobbing in agreement.

"One a girl, one a boy. I should think we'd be happy enough with that for now, don't you suppose?" Greg pointed out.

"Indeed," John agreed, as Sherlock smiled at the both of them.

"I'm just glad it's the two of you and not me," Sherlock declared. "Grace is far too young for such folly."

"Oh, give it time," Greg said lightly. "I do believe that one day she and Daniel might just surprise all of us, or THINK they are at least."

"Your girl, my boy," John said simply, with a sparkle in his eye. "Even Greg and I can deduce THAT."

Sherlock sat back with a peaceful expression.

"Indeed John. My girl, your boy."


	101. Of Hearts and Boredom

**Of Hearts and Boredom**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _None mentioned and all background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greer, Scott, and Johnnie Lestrade; Grace and Michael Holmes; Rosie and Daniel Watson; Julian and Gareth Bailey; Ciana Anderson_

* * *

"BORED. Bored bored bored!"

"Oh Gracie, not AGAIN," Michael lamented. He glanced over towards Greer and her brothers for support, finding only poor attempts to conceal smiles and childish giggles.

"Well, for what it's worth," Daniel said, "she's a perfect right to be bored. There's NOTHING to do. School isn't to start again for another two weeks and she's all of her sewing projects for Christmas finished already."

"Oh, PLEASE," Rosie said, as she looked up from braiding Ciana's long hair. "Grace can't do ANYTHING wrong in your books Danny!"

"That's NOT TRUE," Daniel protested, his dark blue eyes taking on a defensive expression. "Grace can do PLENTY wrong," he trailed off. He clamped his mouth shut and blushed furiously as he noticed the glare Grace Holmes was giving him.

"What Danny MEANT to say was that Grace isn't perfect in his eyes, just as nobody else is perfect either. Our flaws are part of our charms," Scott said, as he occupied his time with a game of chess with Johnnie.

"That's right," Johnnie confirmed. "We've all got our flaws. And our perfections. Let's start with Gracie then, since she's SOOOOOO bored, maybe we can… I don't know… UNbore her."

"That isn't even a WORD, Johnnie," Greer sniffed. "It's a GOOD one, but still isn't one. Oh BOLLOCKS, that doesn't even make sense, does it."

Scott shook his head over his sister's vocabulary. It was harmless enough, but it was clear as day that even their dad's attempts to rein in his own verbal habits in Greer's presence had been something of a day late and a quid short.

"Grace is bored too easily," Johnnie said, stretching out his long legs and leaning back against the wall, mutually abandoning the chess board with Scott. "But that's not a surprise. Uncle Sherlock is bored easily too. She comes by it perfectly honestly," he said.

"Fair enough," Michael said. "I bore easily too but not like Daddy and Gracie do. But when she's on a mission nothing can stop her. She once stared down one of our classmates when they teased me because I like science and wrestling BOTH."

At this, Grace blushed, smiling at her brother warmly. "Well, you're stubborn. Like Mummy. When you get a notion in your head nothing stops you and that can be SO frustrating. But you're also stubborn in a GOOD way. I guess that's why you're so GOOD at wrestling, you never give up. And why you're so good at science. You don't stop until you know the answer."

"Mummy says that Daniel is going to make GREAT discoveries someday, that he's going to make breakthroughs. Whatever THOSE are," Greer said, as she sat back, wrapping her arms around Ciana as the younger girl settled back against her.

"I think that means… he's very very clever. And very stubborn, and he's going to do VERY good things," Rosie said, smiling as Julian arrived.

"Sorry I'm so late," Julian apologized, as he settled easily on the floor next to Rosie. "Gareth was sick in the car. So what's up?"

"I WAS NOT," Gareth protested softly. "I just didn't feel well that's all," he said sadly. Julian sighed as he sat down next to Rosie, opening his arms for his baby brother to settle into.

"No worries Little G," Julian whispered. "I used to not feel well in the car too." Gareth smiled at this, tired from feeling so ill. He closed his eyes, nodding off without a single word as his big brother held him closely.

"We were just talking about our best and worst," Rosie said, smiling adoringly at him. Julian was so accustomed to this now that he didn't even blush anymore, noticing that Rosie didn't blush anymore either, though the look in her eyes and her smile had never changed much.

"Ah, best and worst. Well, then," Julian said, as he thought a moment. "Rosa. Your worst is that you are never wrong, ever. Your best is that you are never wrong, ever," Julian giggled. "And you are caring. But you don't stand any nonsense. Mummy says she thinks you're going to be a REALLY good nurse someday, like your mummy Mary and mummy Alex."

Rosie hadn't even noticed that she'd worked her way closer to him, gently taking Gareth from him and cradling the youngest Bailey in her arms.

Rosie, careful to not disturb Gareth, swatted Jules gently on the arm. "Silly goose," she said to him, rolling her eyes. "YOUR worst is that you get on a notion and won't let go. Your best is that you get on a notion and won't let go. But you don't do it without a good reason. Daddy says you're going to be a capital copper someday like your daddy, and Uncle Greg, and Auntie Sally. I think he's right, and since I'm never wrong, I guess you will be," she giggled.

"You guys are embarrassing," Greer rolled her eyes. "I agree with all of it so far. So, I suppose my brothers are next. Worst and best. You're both the same all the time, it's like you're the same person in… two people. All the time. I don't think you have a worst though," Greer admitted.

"Oh, come ON, Greer," Johnnie protested. "We all have worsts. And if anyone can pick them out it's YOU."

"Sorry, but you don't. Not yet anyway. Unless it's that you're always the same. Your best is how you're always there when we get into scrapes, though. Mummy and Daddy never worry as long as you're both around. They know we're all looked after."

"Well," Scott said, "fair is fair and it's only right that it be Greer's turn. I'd say what her worst is but she knows where I sleep and she actually scares me a little bit," he teased with a giggle.

"Excuse me, Gregory Scott Lestrade," Greer said defensively. She glared at her big brother, who simply returned the look with an impish grin. She gasped with a scowl at her other brother as he snickered in agreement with Scott. "JOHN WILLIAM! You take that back!"

"I didn't say anything..." Johnnie protested.

"YOU WERE THINKING IT," Greer stated, her deep brown eyes firm in her accusations.

John finally chose to ignore his sister's protests. "Would you believe Greer's worst is her temper, but her best is how she loves everyone and would do anything to protect us. Even when we don't need her to, she wants to." Johnnie smiled warmly at her, while Scott winked at her as if to say, "what HE said."

"I suppose you could say Greer does everything with her whole heart. I think that means she's going to be a good copper too someday. Just don't make her mad," Scott said.

They smiled at her as her expression of offence morphed into one they were more accustomed to seeing - her look of admiration for her big brothers.

"What about YOU Ciana?" Greer said, changing the subject. He hated when her brothers got mushy about her. She appreciated it deep down, but it always embarrassed her a little bit on the outside and preferred them not to do it in front of others.

"MY daddy says that my worst is that I'm too sensitive," Ciana said quietly. "But he says he never minds because he knows that means I haven't outgrown being his little girl." Greer tightened her arms around her best friend. "But daddy also says that my best is that my heart is so big, and he knows that means that whatever I do when I grow up, I'll do it well. Like he does his job, and mummy hers. And Uncle Greg and Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John, and…" Ciana yawned. "I'm too little to understand yet. I think I like just being his little girl. And Uncle Greg's too."

"I think you'll always be daddy's little niece, and Uncle Phillip's too. I mean, YOUR daddy's," Scott said softly. Without even a glance to Johnnie, his twin brother rose quietly to retrieve a blanket to hand to Greer to drape around the young girl. "Greer will always be Uncle Phillip's special little niece too.

"So what do we all have in common then," Grace finally said, as she considered the conversation they'd all just had. "Make it good because right now I'm not bored."

"Our hearts," Daniel said, simply.

"Well," Grace said, rolling her eyes. "THAT'S boring."

"Well it may be boring, but it's also TRUE," Michael said, with a small huff.

"I didn't SAY it wasn't TRUE, I only said it was BORING," Grace protested.

"When does school start again?" Greer asked with a heavy sigh, to nobody in particular.

"Two weeks," Grace sighed. "Two BOOOOORRRRING weeks."


	102. Anticipation

**_Anticipation_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _All background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greer, Ciana_

 ** _Mollstrade Tie-ins:_** _Chapter 88 – Christmas Morning Yet to Come_

 ** _Author's note:_** _This chapter and the next one (Chapter 103) occur the same Christmas Eve as chapter 88. Chapter 104 will be a future fic that also directly ties in._

* * *

Ciana Jane Anderson had made it until, roughly, three pages into "Stave V: The Last of It", when she finally drifted off against Greg's chest, her small hands clutching at the soft fabric of his dressing gown.

Soothed by the vibrations of his chest from his rumbling baritone, and his subtle movements and voice inflections as he expressively and enthusiastically read his way through Ebenezer Scrooge's fledgling transformation, Ciana, exhausted from excitement and festive activity, drifted off easily and comfortably.

The young daughter of Phillip and Jackie Anderson knew little of what was to come at that point, but the fact that she would be waking up to Father Christmas, Uncle Greg and Auntie Molly, and Greer - her best friend in the WHOLE world, Mummy and Daddy, and everyone else she loved. Ciana had fallen fast asleep in utter contentment and comfort. Greg, holding the book with one hand and a hand gently resting on Ciana's back, noticed the moment she had finally drifted off.

Greer, sleepy but happy and still on Uncle Phillip's lap, kept an eye on her best friend with a tiny smile of happiness.

She had everything she needed for a perfect Christmas Eve.

She had Uncle Phillip, who would very soon be singing her favourite Christmas lullaby after her and daddy tucked her and Ciana in for the night. She had Ciana for a sleepover. She had a wonderful Christmas story being read to her and the others. She had the promise of Daddy making breakfast with all of her beloved uncles. She would have Father Christmas having come too as everyone slept.

When the story had come to conclusion, with Uncle John reading the final words spoken by Tiny Tim, she sighed in tired bliss and whispered up to Phillip, "Will you sing to me soon, Uncle?"

"Yes, Milady. Very soon. Just a few more minutes?"

With a single glance to Greg, Phillip then rose carefully, letting Greer slide off his lap only long enough for him to stand upright, before scooping her back up again with a small groan of protest on behalf of his stiff aching back. Greg managed to rise to his feet without disturbing the sleeping girl he himself held.

Carefully tucked in, with Molly and Jackie in the doorway watching in quiet anticipation, Greer received the promised song, and with closing notes softly sung, drifted off to sleep.

It wasn't long, however, before Ciana had awakened again. Greer yawned widely, with a big, tired sigh.

"Greer?" the small voice asked, worriedly.

"What is it?" she asked the smaller girl.

"Will Father Christmas know I'm not home?"

"Of course he will, Ciana," Greer whispered, bringing her fist up to rest under her chin. "Father Christmas knows where all the little girls and boys are on Christmas Eve. No worries," she said, with a quiet, tired smile.

"Are you SURE? Mummy and Daddy and I are SO far from home. You're SURE he'll know I'm here?"

"Absolutely sure," Greer said, confidently. "I've even had a Christmas in Canada, two years ago, and he found me THERE. He knew I was spending Christmas with Sam. Oh, Christmas morning in Saskatchewan was SO pretty too. The only thing missing was YOU."

"Really?" Ciana asked wondrously. Her blue eyes were wide, but rapidly losing focus again.

"Really. Honestly and truly." Greer reached her arm out, draping it over her best friend.

"Will Father Christmas know the biscuits Uncle John made are from everyone here? Us, and your brothers? And Rosie and Julian and…" Ciana cut herself off with a yawn. "… And Danny, and Gar…eth… and…"

Greer lay perfectly still for a few moments, waiting.

"And," Ciana stirred herself, still worried, "Mikey and Grace… oh it's such a BIG house, Greer…" she trailed off, her voice becoming softer and quieter with each exhausted syllable.

Greer held her breath, waiting motionless as Ciana seemed to drift off again. Finally, she seemed to have confirmation, with soft, regular breathing.

Out like a light.

Greer couldn't WAIT for Christmas morning.


	103. Forgiveness

**Forgiveness**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _All background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Rosie, Julian_

* * *

"Jules," Rosie whispered loudly.

She lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The dim light that was slowly morphing Christmas Eve into Christmas morning through her bedroom window at 221A Baker Street illuminated the room just enough for her to see the shadowy form of Julian Bailey sleeping on an air mattress on her floor as she rolled over onto her side.

Rosie heaved a heavy, tired sigh.

Julian was snoring.

"JULIAN ANDREW!" she finally said loudly.

She knew her dad was prone to snoring as well so Mummy Alex wasn't likely to be faring any better. Jules' parents were sleeping downstairs in 221B. With Ciana being so little, however, though she was bunking with Greer, Uncle Phillip and Auntie Jackie were in the basement flat with Auntie Molly and Uncle Greg, in 221C. The only ones suffering, or so Rosie thought, were her and Mummy Alex.

With a start that Rosie barely saw in the dim light, Julian awoke fully. Rosie heard him take a deep breath, then let it out.

"You were doing it, Jules," Rosie casually pointed out.

"Doing WHAT, Rosa," Julian replied, still only half awake.

"YOU know. IT," she said, pulling her blankets closer to herself.

"Rosa," he said, sounding exhausted. "You know you're my best friend, and I LOVE you and I'm going to marry you someday… but I haven't the FAINTEST idea what you're talking about," Julian finally replied. He yawned, wanting nothing more than to be allowed to fall asleep again.

"You were SNORING, you silly goose!" she accused, sitting up in her bed. She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, resting her cheek on her knee.

"Rosamund Mary Watson, I do NOT snore. I have NEVER snored, and one day when we're grown up and married you'll find that out for yourself, every single night."

Julian winced as he heard Rosa sigh heavily and loudly in frustration. For as much as he loved her, girls at any age at times were simply impossible, and his beloved Rosa was no exception.

"Anyway, we both know Father Christmas won't come if we're awake. Please Rosa, I'm so tired…" he pleaded. "Christmas morning is in a few hours and…" he cut himself off with another big yawn.

In the moment of relative silence in Rosie's bedroom, while Rosie tried to think of something to say to back up her accusation, and Julian's inability to suppress his exhausted yawning, they both heard it.

A loud, unmistakable, unavoidable, heartfelt snore.

A snore that could only have come from the tail up.

And it was indeed coming from Rosie's bedroom, although it was painfully clear to Rosie Watson that it was NOT coming from her best friend, after all.

"Oh, no," Rosie whispered, as she brought her hands up to cover her face, utterly embarassed. "I'm so sorry Jules, can you EVER forgive me for that horrid accusation?" She sounded truly ashamed. Julian rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and crawled off his bed on the floor.

"Rosa, you know I ALWAYS forgive you, our quarrels are never serious. That's why YOU always forgive ME too," he said softly, as he stood and took the few steps over to her bed. He sat on the edge carefully, then swung his legs over, sitting next to her with his legs drawn up as well.

"I honestly thought Maisie was with Auntie Sally and Uncle Sherlock. She snores TERRIBLY. Uncle Sherlock says it's because she's a beagle, and beagles are hounds, and hounds have special noses. I didn't even realize she'd gotten into my bedroom." She covered her face, embarrassed beyond belief.

"Aw, my Rosa, we ALL make mistakes. Daddy says that's part of being human." He turned just enough to wrap his arms around his best friend. While she was in his embrace, he whispered to her, "Are you as tired as I am, Rosa?"

Rosie nodded, whispering back, "I'm knackered, Jules. I just want to sleep and sleep and sleep… well until morning anyway."

Julian sighed happily, releasing her, wanting badly to kiss her cheek in loving reassurance, but not quite bold enough, or OLD enough yet, to dare it. After all, he reflected later, they had YEARS to get to that.

Crawling off Rosie's bed, he considered returning to his makeshift cot on the floor, but instead first, with a smile and a wink to Rosie, went over to the slumbering hound on the floor, gently nudging her awake and ushering her wordlessly out the door. Only then did he settle back onto his air mattress, gratefully wrapping himself up in the warm blankets.

"Happy Christmas, Rosa," he said softly, as he began to nod off.

Rosie smiled in the dark of her room, as she gazed down at Julian's silhouette on the floor. Settling back under her covers, she tucked herself in, as she contentedly replied, "Happy Christmas, Jules."


	104. Bringing Back Traditions

**Bringing Back Traditions**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family, Romance, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Rosie and Julian_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Rosie, Julian_

* * *

"Do you remember the year you stayed over for Christmas?" Rosie asked Julian, as they settled under their covers after a long, busy 23rd of December.

"Which year, Rosa?" he asked, rolling over to wrap her in his arms. "As I recall, we had that tradition for several years. Oh, I'm so glad it's started up again though," he said lightly. "Hearing our dads and uncles read that old Christmas story, well it hasn't seemed quite like a proper Christmas without that."

Rosie wiggled a bit, settling herself to her satisfaction into her husband's arms. Bringing her hands up, she grasped his loosely and comfortably, grateful the morning would have him on a day off from work.

"The first year, darling," Rosie said. "The year Maisie got into my bedroom and I thought…"

Julian chuckled lazily. "And I told you, as I recall, that when we were grown up and married you'd find out for yourself that I don't snore…"

"Well," Rosie admitted with a small giggle, "you weren't lying. I should have known better, but to be absolutely fair it was late and as I recall I believed Maisie was upstairs."

"Maisie had the full run of the entirety of 221 Baker Street, sweetheart. It was sheer coincidence she woke you up and made you believe it was me keeping Father Christmas away."

"Do you suppose our baby will know the same traditions, now that we've re-awakened them as such? There aren't many little ones yet. Ours and Johnnie and Josie's are the only ones, really, and they won't even have their first Christmas until next year."

"I've no doubts or worries love, she will know what we knew. Gareth and Daniel are still young enough to appreciate them. And I suspect that Greer and Sam will grace us all with a little one, one way or another, before too many years have passed." Julian spoke with confidence, borne both of his experience with their family, and his profession as a Detective Sergeant with New Scotland Yard.

Rosie took a deep breath, reflexively tightening her grip on her husband's hands, draped so comfortably over her baby belly, now nearly maxed out as her due date rapidly drew nearer.

"I can't WAIT for tomorrow, darling," Rosie said with joyous contentment. "Christmas Eve, at HOME, at Baker Street. Oh, I yearn for it already!"

"I know what you mean," Julian sighed with a smile. "I'm glad our dads and uncles have decided to pick it up again. After Mrs. Hudson passed it seemed they'd lost the heart to do it these past several years… And I've been craving your dad's … our dad's, I mean," he corrected himself, "gingerbread for WEEKS. It's the strangest thing, Rosa Rose, it's like I can't get enough of molasses and ginger. I actually get CRANKY if I'm denied it. Thank God Greer learned it from your dad… OUR dad I mean. She's kept the team supplied more often than not these days."

"You mean she's kept YOU supplied. Darling you're her superior, a little bribery goes a long way. When a Bailey is happy, everyone is happy," she giggled. "Anyway, I completely understand. I've been craving Uncle Greg's turkey stuffing. Oh, I'm so glad the wait is nearly over, it's been driving me MAD."

Julian thought about Uncle Greg's stuffing, and his belly nearly gurgled with the thought. Thinking instead of his latest obsession, he mused, "The gingerbread… sympathy cravings, do you suppose? Or just dad's baking prowess?" Julian mused curiously.

"A bit of both, I suspect," Rosie replied with a small giggle. "Believe it or not, I'm even craving Uncle Sherlock's Christmas pudding. It's the one thing he actually learned how to make and it's DIVINE…" she trailed off sleepily.

Julian, while thinking that Christmas pudding, though it had its own merits, was definitely an acquired taste that he himself had yet to acquire, sensed his wife was fading fast, and with good reason, as his thumb absently stroked her baby bump, where he'd just felt a solid kick from their apparently restless daughter. "I love you Rosa. Sleep well, dream better my wife, Happy Christmas," he whispered softly, as his lips brushed the skin behind her ear in a delicate kiss.

Rosie's hands tightened around his ever so briefly. "I love you Jules. Happy Christmas, my husband," she said, as she drifted into peaceful slumber.


	105. Molly's Theory

**_Molly's Theory_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _All background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Rosie, Molly_

* * *

Given his past history, and the precedent he seemed to have managed to set, much to his chagrin, Greg wasn't the least bit surprised.

He thought, perhaps, he might let himself out to any pregnant woman in London who was running past their due date and was desperate to go into active labour once and for all.

At least, he thought, Rosie Bailey was a registered nurse, and had assisted in the delivery of far more babies than Greg had, in spite of his track record. In a pinch, Greg decided, Rosie could probably even manage on her own.

And, also, at least… Rosie's labour had started without any extenuating circumstance… say, being stranded on the moors, or caught in a city-wide power outage. This was something he had the luxury to reflect upon as he rushed her to hospital in his BMW while Rosie's mood swung between cursing in pain like a sailor, and laughing with joyous relief in between her streams of profanity laced contractions.

The afternoon had begun innocently enough. John and Alex, both at work, hadn't been at Baker Street that day. Greg had been enjoying a day off whilst Sally, newly promoted to Detective Inspector, found her footing as a team leader in the wake of Greg's impending retirement at the distinguished, yet still humble rank of Detective Chief Inspector. Greg had had a long and fulfilling career as a Yarder. He'd seen a few trusted team members come and go, and his last team, he felt, had been one of the best he'd ever had the honour of leading. Passing the torch to Sally, therefore, wasn't hard.

And true to nature, on that particular day, Sherlock could be found with his wife, who had consented to allow him to continue in his role as consulting git at crime scenes. Grudgingly, teasingly almost, Sally did admit that he could be useful at times whilst the REAL detectives carried on about their business.

Rosie, heavily pregnant and two days past her due date, bored to death and too restless to sit still at home, had decided on impulse to visit her old haunt. Once there, she found Uncle Greg relaxing in front of the fireplace with a novel, a piping hot cup of tea at his side and a snoring beagle puppy on his lap - the third beagle to snoop about and make trouble within the walls of 221.

"Oh Uncle," Rosie said, as she shimmied herself on to the sofa next to him. "This is interminable. Will this baby EVER make her appearance?"

Greg smiled at her warmly. "She will, trust me. And when she does you'll forget how long it took for her to get here, because suddenly it will feel as though the time passed rather quickly. Nine months is but a drop in the pond compared to what comes next Little Lass."

"Spoken as a man, obviously, who has also, obviously, never been pregnant," she huffed, shifting herself for what felt the umpteenth time on the sofa.

"No, but I'm a father, and yes it's different for us. But in the end, parenthood is shared, ideally. Once she's here, you and Julian will share the experience." Greg rose, gently shifting the puppy over to Rosie's lap, and headed into the kitchen to reheat the kettle for fresh tea.

"Now according to Molly," Greg said thoughtfully, "time is relative to our experiences here, she cites it as something akin to Einstein's theory, really. Anticipation seems to make time slow down considerably, whilst dread makes it pass too quickly." Rosie nodded at this, absently rubbing the puppy's ears. "The truth is, time passes equally for everyone, and remember she was pregnant twice. Sherlock was the one to point that out to her, and she found it to be comforting and actually, she's the one who has stated how quick pregnancy seemed in retrospect, once our babies were actually born. And I have to say that as her husband, watching her experience that wasn't as easy as you might think." Greg paused a moment to pour their hot refreshments. "I felt like a pure bastard for most of it. Any husband who give a flying rat's ass will feel that way, and Julian has expressed concerns to me to that effect as well."

"He has?" Rosie asked, curiously. "He hasn't said anything…"

"It's far different for him than for you of course," Greg said reassuringly, "but he's had his own set of nerves, and they haven't been easy. If I had a quid for every time he's called himself a pure son of a bitch for putting you through this I could have retired two years ago," he chuckled softly.

Rosie was about to nod in acknowledgement of her Uncle Greg's nugget of wisdom, and shared experience, when she felt a dodgy twinge.

Ignoring it for the time being, she merely winced.

Returning to the sofa with fresh tea, Greg handed a mug to Rosie, who smiled tightly but sincerely in response.

The next twinge nearly made her spill her scalding hot tea as she gasped in surprise.

Greg's dark brown eyes grew as large as they had ever been, while one singular, passionate thought made its way through his head and out his mouth.

"Oh… shit fire and shag me running..."

"Indeed, Uncle," Rosie said, smiling sheepishly. "I think perhaps my interminable wait has come to a conclusion."

Greg watched her carefully, noting her calm and, for the first time that day but certainly not the last, appreciating it.

And this, eventually, brought Greg to his hurried drive through the streets of London, using, not for the first time though one of the last, his authority as a DCI of New Scotland Yard, to convey his niece to hospital with sirens and lights full bore.

"Really, Uncle, I've a wait yet," Rosie said, laughing lightly and breathing deliberately through contractions. "Though I appreciate your expedien… oh SHIT… oh sod it Uncle… feckin' FLOOR IT!"

By now, Greg was used to this. Rosie was quite correct - she had a bit of time yet. He had contacted Sally, who had in turn radioed Julian, who was not, fortunately, in the field that day. From there, John and Alex had been called, as well as Kieran, who had taken a desk day to catch up on paperwork, and Emma, who was nearly ready to clock out for the day anyway.

From there, word spread like wildfire.

Upon their arrival, Rosie had claimed her Uncle's hand and had utterly refused to let go.

When Julian arrived, much to his shock, Rosie wasn't even pissed off at him for taking so long to get there, nor was she pissed off that he'd gotten her pregnant in the first place.

"Little Lass," Greg said soothingly, "Julian is here now. I really have no place here, so if it's alright with you, might I take leave to wait with the others outside?"

Rosie had looked at him with panic in her blue eyes. Finally, she nodded. "Are daddy and mummy on their way?"

Greg smiled. "Your mum has texted, they'll be here in a few minutes." With this, finally, Rosie nodded. "Will you stay until they arrive? Please?"

Greg merely nodded, understanding. She was a bit afraid, and wanted a substitute for her dad. Greg understood this, so he agreed.

"Yes, Little Lass," he said, squeezing her hand. "I'll stay and pass you over to your dad. Feel free to punch him if he gets bossy with your obstetrician, hey? I'll not allow assault charges," he said, kissing her temple.

"I love you Uncle," she said. "We won't be long, then you can meet your new great-niece," she promised. "Auntie Molly's theory and all," she winked with a glowing smile.

When Kieran had arrived with Sally, Greg found him to be a bit less calm than his son was about the whole thing – at least until Emma had arrived, to soothe some sense into the impending grandpa.

When John and Alex arrived, Greg gratefully reclaimed his hand, brushing Rosie's bangs aside with his other. "Think how soon we'll be able to ride again Lass," he said, with a mischievous smile. Rosie had actually laughed at that, promising that Ennie would indeed soon be reacquainted with her.

Greg was surprised to find John casual and cool as a Sunday stroll, and Alex the one to need settling. When Molly arrived to join the contingent in the waiting room, she merely took a spot next to her husband, handing him a fresh takeaway coffee.

"It may be a long day, or it may not. Let's see which it is, Darling," she said softly.

"Not sure it matters in the end, Love," he responded. "Give us about seven months," he whispered conspiratorially. "If we can survive Greer's next seven months, we'll be sitting golden," he said.

Molly said nothing to this, only resting her head on his shoulder with contentment, though privately she thought that seven months seemed SUCH a long time.

Oh, that damned theory.


	106. True Intentions

**True Intentions**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; mild romance; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Daniel Watson and Grace Holmes introduced as established_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, John, Sherlock, Daniel, Michael_

* * *

Daniel Watson didn't much care who was in the room at the moment. He was frustrated beyond all reason and wholly done with it all.

"Girls are IMPOSSIBLE," he lamented, as he heaved himself down with an exasperated huff.

"Is this a… PARTICULAR girl you speak of," Sherlock queried carefully, "or is this girls in GENERAL."

Greg and John shared an "Oh, shit" look before training their collective gazes upon John's son.

"In general Uncle," Daniel said, "but in this case a particular one. Grace is… well I…" he said, before stopping short and blushing furiously, suddenly realizing he was venting to his girlfriend's dad.

"She's a girl, Dan," Greg finally said. "She's her little quirks, one of which is that she happens to be quite fond of you. YOU may think she's off her trolley, but she's still chosen you, more or less. Out of all the boys she could have set her sights on, she set them on you. I'd say you're a damned lucky young bloke, without prejudice."

"Son," John said carefully, "there are probably times when she thinks you're just as daft, if not more."

Sherlock snorted. "She'd have to be to put up with the likes of a man. Or a young one at least. Women have their little idiosyncrasies, but we as a male species in general can be quite… challenging, also. Are you sure my daughter is impossible, or is it you? Or perhaps it's the two of you put together. I know my girl can be… trying, at times. She's a bit too much of her mother in her. A bit too much of her father too, I suspect."

Greg rose an eyebrow at this, "When did YOU get to be so wise, then?"

"Osmosis," Sherlock said with a smirk. "I've absorbed it from living in the same house as you for all these years."

"Well, THAT was a right barrel of laughs," Michael said as he strode casually into the room. "My sister has just been venting about how boys are impossible. I reminded her she was talking to one but she was in one of her moods. You know the one. The "hell hath no fury" one."

"Takes after her mother then," Sherlock said, lightly, as he navigated the plate with the biscuits.

"Her father, more like," John said with casual air as he sipped his tea,

"Or perhaps it's the Watson-Holmes combination that has the moods so active," Greg replied to it all, as he bit into a particular biscuit that Kieran had sent home with him.

"Well in any case," Michael said, as he nosed out a cup of tea himself, "she's in a right splendid bloody mood. I've spent part of the morning advocating for Dan and the other part ducking. Mum had taken over the situation when I left. Thank God for Mum."

"What the hell IS the bee in her bonnet anyway?" Greg finally asked. "Grace isn't usually so volatile, is she?"

"I have no idea, Uncle," Daniel huffed with a frustrated sigh. "All I did was mention how I thought it was so nice that she loves sewing so much. Next thing she's calling me a sexist pig… I thought it was GOOD that she loves something like that, it's a dying art, really. But apparently complimenting her on such things is strictly taboo."

"Did you know that Sally has been teaching me how to knit?" Sherlock said, after several moments of silence, whilst the older men contemplated Daniel's conundrum.

"I didn't," Daniel admitted, his eyebrow raising slightly. Greg and John glanced to the teenager, curious where Sherlock may be going with this.

"It's really not difficult, and believe it or not it's taught me patience. We have enough dishcloths in our kitchen now to bequeath to a dozen grandchildren…. But more's the point, it's a dying domestic art, and one that perhaps, should you consent to join me in the lessons…" he hinted.

"I could use a new scarf," Greg said with a crooked grin.

"The hat Sally made me a few years ago is in need of replacement," John hinted gently, "and Rosie and Julian could use a new blanket for Riley, she's outgrown the first already..."

Daniel Watson, being clever, wise, and generally considerate – all thanks to the combined older male influences in 221 Baker Street, swirled the notion around his cooling tea cup while he munched on a biscuit.

"That might calm Grace's wrath, yeah?" he finally responded. "And I could make her something nice… let her know without words but with actions that I'm not a chauvinistic jackass? And that in spite of her moods… and mine… I DO love her?"

"That might do the trick, Dan," Greg remarked approvingly. "And sometimes a lady only puts so much stock in words. It's actions that show her your true intentions. Just… don't forget to say the words now and again, hey? Girls are funny that way. They need both. The trick is to know when to switch them up."

"Indeed, Uncle," Daniel finally said, grinning. "Oh I've already an idea. It may be a bit ambitious but I think I catch on rather quickly to new things, don't I? Just a few months to her birthday, I wonder…"

Sherlock cleared his throat, then shared a smile with Greg, John, and Michael.

"I'll talk to Sally, see if she's willing to take on another pupil, but if it means a grand plan to appease our spirited daughter I'm nearly positive she'll agree to it."

Daniel sat back, sighing with relief. "She's not THAT impossible I suppose," he finally admitted with a small subtle smile.


	107. Mrs Hudson's Christmas Ritual

**Mrs. Hudson's Christmas Ritual**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _All background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Mrs. Hudson, Greg, ensemble background_

* * *

"Is the wine properly mulled, Gregory?" Mrs. Hudson inquired, as she stopped in on the kitchen in 221C.

"I believe it's close, Mrs. H," was the gruff teddy bear reply. "It smells nearly right, I reckon. But would you be so kind, if I might impose upon you," he said, as he rose from his chair to join her in the kitchen, "to give it a little test, just to… you know… make SURE?" He wrapped his arms around their beloved elderly landlady from behind, giving her a solid bear hug. Mrs. Hudson blushed slightly and laughed, leaning back into his friendly embrace.

"Well, I might, in the interests of my little brood," she replied with a warm giggle. "Ah Gregory, you do know how to charm a girl into drink, even if she's…"

"Our matriarch?" he said with a grin, as he released her and reached for a heavy goblet. "This is an old Lestrade family recipe, and I've kept it secret from everyone save for Morrie. He's a bit of a scamp but he can keep a secret, that boy."

"I hope you've made a children friendly version for my grandbabies," she said, hopefully. "I'd hate for them to miss out merely because they're underaged?"

"Sherlock has worked out a wassail with the same proportions of whole spices and flavour profiles and such, no worries. He assures me it's as close as can be gotten to mulled wine. Ciana and Greer have been waiting for hours for it, just because they've been promised it'll taste the same as their daddies' drinks. The boys are a bit more patient but I know they're looking forward to Christmas eve with it."

"And our traditional storytelling too?" Mrs. Hudson said, hopefully. "Oh, it just isn't Christmas without my Baker Street boys, and Kieran and Phillip… and my girls, telling the story! It's going to be so lovely, Greg. Your story, and the warm drinkies, and the fire. Oh and the little ones in their pajamas…"

"It's to be Christmas Eve as always," Greg reassured her.

Later that eve, with hearts and spirits full to the brim, with A Christmas Carol told only the way Greg, John, Sherlock, Kieran, Phillip, and their wives could tell it… warm spiced bedtime nightcaps for young and old alike, cozy pajamas and a yuletide fire to make anyone who wasn't already soothed towards slumber lean towards it with contentment, the collective families and friends of 221 Baker Street turned in.

One flat, and one bed at a time, Mrs. Hudson was the last to turn in. First, she had her own little ritual.

One by one, she silently padded into each bedroom in her house, tucking in, and placing soft kisses goodnight upon the sleeping cheeks of both young and old, parent and child.

"Happy Christmas, my loves," she softly whispered to each of them.


	108. The Most Grievous Convincing

**_The Most Grievous Convincing_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Romance; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, Johnnie and Josie_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, John and Josie mentioned_

* * *

"John came to see me earlier today," Greg said casually, as he and Molly curled up on the sofa. Greer and Sam had just left their flat, and the elder Lestrades sat comfortably together with intimacy that had somehow managed to never wane over the years.

"OUR John, I gather?" Molly asked curiously. Greg leaned in to kiss her cheek with a happy sigh.

"Yes, our John, or more properly now, Josie's John. He wanted to ask permission for a name for their boy."

Molly nearly spilled her wine at this. "Permission!" she exclaimed with a burst of a laugh, gently slapping his arm. "Since when does your son ask permission for anything!"

"Fair enough," Greg chuckled, as he stretched his legs out in front of him. "He felt in this case it might be appropriate though."

Molly sighed with the remnants of her laugh. "Well, which name then, darling? Gregory, or Joseph?"

"Well… Gregory is a bit overdone by now I think", Greg started slowly. Molly glanced to him, noting the wince, and smiling in silent agreement. "Joseph of course is more fitting given my middle name and Josie's proper name…"

"And you advocated for that, did you darling?" Molly teased, as she reached over to pull a blanket over her legs. "Joseph IS a sensible name, and a rather handsome one I must say."

"I suppose it might be," Greg admitted, with a small smile. "But I'm pleased to report that our grandson's first name is to be something wholly unrelated to anyone living in 221 Baker Street…"

Molly snuggled closer to her husband, smiling as his arm reflexively tightened around her. "So it's not to be Gregory, or John... or Sherlock or Hamish thank GOD... or Scott, William… oh my. What is it to be then, my silver fox?" she encouraged.

Greg rolled his eyes, before taking a bracing breath. "I'm sworn to silence, love. Only the most grievous of convincing might make me spill the beans…"

"Oh, is that SO then," came her quietly sly reply. "I WAS to make pot roast tomorrow, I know it's your favourite. I might instead settle for fish and chips takeaway. Of course only the most grievous of convincing might change my mind…"

"The way to a man's heart is through his belly, hey?" Greg laughed. "And here I thought I'd have to shag my gorgeous wife. Shame she thinks a bit of roast beef and vegetables suffice these days…"

"Might you shag her anyway, you know… just in case?" Molly asked slyly, as she allowed her hand to wander over his chest and middle.

"Only if there's pot roast involved," Greg said with a low chuckle, as he wrapped himself around her.

"Aiden, by the way. Aiden Joseph is to be our little grandladdie's name. There, I've said it," he whispered into her ear. Molly smiled at this.

Molly didn't much like fish and chips anyway, and a good thing too. She'd had an awful craving for pot roast lately.


	109. The Lestrade Siblings Plan a Surprise

**_The Lestrade Siblings Plan a Surprise_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Ensemble pairings, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Greer, Scott, Johnnie_

* * *

"Daddy," Greer said one evening, when Molly was working late and Greg was home at 221C with their children. "What is Mummy's FAVOURITE dish in the WHOLE WORLD?"

Scott snickered and gave Johnnie a poke to the ribs. "DADDY is, silly girl. She's ALWAYS saying how dishy he is!" He rolled his eyes heavenwards while making a swooning motion at the word "dishy".

Greg held back a snort and a chuckle, instead managing somehow to give his young son a firm look. "I don't think that's what your sister was referring to, Son," he said. Scott giggled, knowing full well by now that while his dad might at least try to look stern in those moments, the sparkle in his dark brown eyes gave away his secret amusement.

"Of course not, Daddy," Scott said, in half apology. "It's just nice to see Mummy so happy when you're home… and YOU so happy as well. Some of our school mates aren't as happy at home as we are," he said, reflectively. His twin brother nodded in agreement with this.

"Yes, some of our best mates have parents who don't get along very well, or just a mummy, or a daddy, and not both. So yes, it's SO nice to have TWO parents, who obviously love each other very much," Johnnie added.

Greg sighed. Beaten by the wisdom of his children, yet again. Sherlock always maintained they got that from their father, but Greg always thought they learned their ways from the collective influences at 221 Baker Street – indeed, Greg believed fully, ALL of the children in Mrs. Hudson's humble house shared those traits for those very reasons.

"So…" Greer said, with an impish sparkle in her brown eyes, "that said, Daddy, what is Mummy's favourite dish?"

"Little Love, you never ask questions without reason, and generally when you do, you have some sort of scheme brewing in that beautiful little head of yours. Whatever my answer is to be, I'm sure you've got plans to have me prepare it for… hmmmm…" Greg said, with a playful half-smile at first his small daughter and then her older brothers, bringing a finger up to scratch his temple thoughtfully. "Let's see… it's not our wedding anniversary, and it's not Christmas, nor is it Valentine's Day… it's not to be Mothering Sunday either… are you perchance plotting some sort of surprise for Mummy for her birthday?" Greg rose an inquiring eyebrow.

Greer giggled at this. "No worries, Daddy, Uncle John has already agreed to make a grand HUGE birthday cake for her. But we, that is to say Scott and Johnnie and myself… well we thought maybe you could make something VERY special, but perhaps… have it be something…"

Scott couldn't stop himself. "Something that WE could help you with, Daddy. We're old enough, we make brekkie ALL THE TIME now for you and Mummy, and we haven't set anything afire yet… well, not much anyway," he said with a tiny embarrassed smile.

"That wasn't OUR fault, Scott," Johnnie said, defensively. "The toaster wasn't working properly and really it just made a lot of smoke, is all. There weren't any actual FLAMES, or anything…"

Greg cleared his throat, then took a deep breath. On the outside, he was calm, but on the inside, he was bursting with laughter at the exchange. He did, in fact, remember that morning, and tossing said toaster in the bin after the smoke had figuratively – and literally - cleared. He'd just been grateful that his twin sons had the wherewithal to unplug it and step back until Greer could summon him and Molly to the kitchen.

"Well, then in that case, I think I have just the thing. Now tell me, are you planning to have everyone attend? Mrs. Hudson, and Uncle Sherlock and Auntie Sally, and the twins… Uncle John and Auntie Alex and Rosie, and Daniel?"

"Oh YES, Daddy! And Julian and Gareth and Uncle Kieran and Auntie Emma, and Uncle Phillip and Auntie Jackie and Ciana…" Johnnie said, excitedly, no longer able to contain himself.

"It's to be a GRAND celebration, with EVERYONE here. But you need not worry about EVERYTHING, Daddy," Scott added. "Everyone is bringing a little something. As a matter of fact," he said, jumping down from his snuggle spot, "I have a list right here…"

Greg held back a groan. Wisdom be damned. They were bloody clever, like Sherlock; thoughtful, like John; attentive to the Baker Street Brood, like Mrs. Hudson; and paid attention to detail, like Molly, Phillip, Sally, and Kieran.

But mostly, they planned ahead. WELL ahead, it seemed. He wasn't sure where they got their ability to have their ducks in a row, but he was oddly grateful for it. There had been times, Greg thought, when he was glad enough just to have the bloody birds in the same pond. Whether they were in a row or not was inconsequential at any given moment. Sometimes he just took what he got and was glad for it.

"It would seem you've got the situation in hand, then?" Greg inquired, with a grin. "Does Mummy know anything about this?"

"Oh NO, Daddy," Greer said solemnly. "But we'll make sure she isn't busy that day. Sometimes she ignores special days like that if they're only for her… why does she do that, Daddy?"

Greg smiled at his little girl, and said nothing for a moment. Finally, he conceded, "It's just her way, Little Love."

"Well, then, this is OUR way, Daddy," Scott said, with conviction. "If Mummy won't make it special for herself, then WE will."

Indeed, Greg thought. They most certainly would. His children wouldn't have it any other way.


	110. Always and Forever

**_Always and Forever_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship; Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Rosie and Julian; John and Alex_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Rosie, Julian, John, Alex, Greg mentioned_

* * *

"Do you remember when I had appendicitis, Rosa?" Julian asked softly, as he sat next to Rosie's bed, hunched over the edge and his head resting next to hers. "I was SO ill, and Mr. Greg helped you to forget for awhile, so you wouldn't worry, until you knew I would be okay?"

Rosie turned her gaze, tired and weakened as it was. She smiled, nodding to him. "I remember, of course I remember silly goose…"

Julian smiled. "You and Mr. Greg started horseback riding then. Has he ridden Pepper since then, or only you, my darling Rosa?"

Rosie didn't notice at first how Julian had worded that, exactly. She had noticed his presence, and his concern, of course. She had noticed how whenever he could, he had refused to leave her bedside, and how he was there, when she fell asleep, and again when she woke up.

"Oh, he still rides Pepper," she said quietly. "Sometimes he's ridden him when I've been on your Misty."

"MY Misty?! Oh Rosa," Julian laughed softly, as he raised himself up on his elbows. "I only rode her once. I'm still too frightened. Anyway riding is something you and Mr. Greg share, and I shan't interfere. It's far too special a thing. Anyway Mr. Greg and Daddy love to play football with me. I suppose that's MY special thing with them."

"Wait…" Rosie suddenly asked, noticing her hand was held by her best friend. "What did you just call me?"

Julian, embarrassed by his sudden frankness, and failed attempt to divert her focus, tried to fake it. "Um… I called you Rosa, Rosa?"

"Oh nonsense, silly goose," she said, smiling weakly. "You called me something else. What was it, darling Jules?"

Julian caught his breath. "I suppose… well I believe I called you my darling Rosa… Rosa?"

"Thought so then," she responded, with a tired smile and a sigh. She tightened her grip on his hand.

Julian thought about this a moment, before disregarding it. "Really, Rosa," he said. "Was there any doubt about that?

"I'm so tired, Jules. This bug has me knackered. Will you be here tomorrow, after school?" Rosie asked, suddenly exhausted.

Julian Bailey thought a moment before responding. "Yes, my Rosa. I'll be here. I'll always be here," he said. Steeling courage, he leaned down, placing a soft, cautious kiss upon her cheek. "I love you, Rosa. Always and forever, I promise," he whispered.

Rosie, not quite weak enough from her bug to not notice, raised her hand up to catch her best friend.

"I promise too," she said, pulling him back down. When she had returned the tentative kiss to his own cheek, she smiled at him, blushing. "Does that mean it's really?" she asked.

"Mean really WHAT?" Julian asked, as he settled himself on top of her covers, next to her.

"That now you'll marry me someday?" Rosie asked, tired. Julian smiled at this. Now that the awkwardness of their first kiss – even if it was still only an innocent peck to the cheek – was past, he suddenly felt more at ease with her than he'd ever felt before, in spite of their youth.

"Someday, yes. There's no one else for me, Rosa. Only YOU," he said.

Unseen in the doorway, John and Alex watched as the two drifted off to sleep, Julian having crawled onto Rosie's bed and settled next to her on top of her covers.

"Would you look at those two," Alex said, quietly. "It's about time, I'd say."

"Speak for yourself, Love," John said, wincing at the thought of his little lamb having an official beau.

"Bollocks, John Hamish Watson," Alex said, admonishingly. "They've been engaged longer than you and I have known each other, darling. They may be young but LOOK at them. I remember how worried she was when Julian was in hospital with his appendix. You recruited Greg to distract her. Now Rosie is terribly ill and Julian begs to stay at her side."

John sighed, smiling. "He does. He's a good boy, he's to grow into a good man, worthy of my little lamb. But now he's kissed her... sort've... and she's kissed him back. Give Greg a head's up that Kieran's household may soon encounter a nasty gastrointestinal bug. Shall we offer to keep Julian here while he recovers, an isolation of sorts?" John padded softly into the room, picking up a blanket from a nearby chair. Quietly, he draped it over the sleeping boy, tucking him in gently.

Alex snorted a laugh, before composing herself. "He's not ill yet. But I do agree, it's a matter of a day or two before we see. It WAS only on the cheek but still, she's quite contagious yet. I think he'll recover best with Rosie by his side, don't you? After all she nursed YOUR sorry ass back to health when you ate from that dodgy truck…"

John frowned. "That wasn't my idea. Well, not entirely any road. But point taken… she WILL nurse him, won't she," he conceded softly.

"Oh yes," Alex said, wrapping an arm around her husband's waist. "She will. And he, her, whenever she needs him. Always and forever."


	111. In Good Hands

**_In Good Hands_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship; Drama; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Rosie and Julian_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Julian, Rosie and Ennie mentioned_

* * *

Greg concluded the call from Larkspur Lane with a deep, sad sigh. He lowered his forehead into his hand, bracing himself, then tightened his fingers upon his temples.

How to tell Rosie. Hell it was hard enough news to take himself, but to have to tell Rosie…

Well, he knew, there was really only one place to go first, one person with the wisdom, the only one to ask how to proceed…

"I've absolutely no clue what to say, Julian," he said, a mere half hour later at the Yard. Greg perched himself on the edge of the young Detective Sergeant's desk and gazed down at him, shaking his head helplessly.

"You know Rosa as well as any of us, Sir," Julian said sadly, but wisely, "especially when it comes to her Ennie. Indeed, any of the horses you and she have ridden at the stables. She'll take the news hard but… from YOU, she'll take it. I know you're just as heartbroken and afraid as she will be, but there is really nobody else with the understanding of the situation, or her heart when it comes to these matters." Greg gazed at Julian intently, knowing the lad was right. Of course he was right. Nobody knew Rosie Bailey better than her husband did.

"Yes," Greg finally conceded. "I'm just not sure how to even begin. Ennie wasn't… ISN'T damnit… she isn't just a horse, Julian. She was a part of your wedding day, she was Rosie's girl before and after your vows. Rosie rode her as your bride, countless times afterwards, then our first time back to the stables after Riley was born…" he trailed off.

"Yes, Mr. Greg. Ennie has never been JUST a horse. Even I recognized that. None of the horses she's ridden over the years with you have been JUST horses. Pepper, Goldie… She rode Misty a time or two after my first go, she even tells of riding your Detective Chief Inspector now and then... what's he called for short?" Julian asked rhetorically, "Chief?" Julian paused, taking a deep breath, letting it out carefully. "Is it… well is the news… I mean… IS Ennie…?" Julian trailed off.

"It's touch and go," Greg said, simply. "It's not looking good, I'm afraid. The injury may not be repairable… if it is she still may never carry a rider again. If she survives, the vet said there's hope that she may still carry her foal to term, she's not that far from her due date, really. The decision is… well it will be sometime today, if it's not been made already. It's the vet's call at this point as to what's…" he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut.

"What's humane. I understand, Uncle. "Horses are so strong, so powerful… but still so delicate, so fragile. They are an irony, Sir. Just as Rosa is. If Ennie is half the stubborn fighter that my wife is, I think she'll pull through."

"Indeed. Just as Rosie is. Well then," he said with resolve. "The news will be what it will be, grim as it is. Thank you, Julian. I think I know what to say, now."

Julian smiled sadly, then advanced towards the older man. He opened his arms, knowing that his mentor needed reassurance and comforting.

Greg took a deep breath, then welcomed the embrace. "I'll keep you posted, Laddie," he said simply. "Though be warned there may yet be a trip out to the stables tonight for Rosie to say goodbye."

"Of course, Uncle," Julian responded. "Rosa will be in good hands if it comes to that, just REMEMBER, for yourself as well… a slim chance is still a chance, it may not necessarily be to say goodbye. You haven't heard anything yet, so no news is good news… where there's life, there's hope, Uncle, and I happen to know Ennie is in very good hands… so don't be surprised if Rosa decides to keep vigil. Pack a few things just to be prepared… And in either case, she'll also be in good hands when you return, I promise you that."

Greg nodded at the younger man, grateful for his strength and wisdom. "Yes. Yes, she will be," he simply said.


	112. The Impatience of Rosie Bailey

**_The Impatience of Rosie Bailey_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship; mild Humour; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Rosie and Julian, Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Julian, Rosie, Molly, Ennie mentioned_

* * *

"Come ON, Uncle Greg," Rosie pressed impatiently. "There's no time to lose. Ennie NEEDS me. NOW," she asserted, dragging him along towards the door.

"Equine labour isn't…" Greg began, but then stopped. This was a Watson married to a Bailey he was talking to. It was nothing short of a pure waste of time and breath.

"UNCLE GREG," she said firmly, "I've given birth. You haven't. Move your sodding ass. NOW."

Molly, standing by, grinned crookedly. "Uncle has just been told, methinks," she said, kissing her husband on the cheek. "Sir, Cayenne and her impending foal await. Now move your sodding ass…"

Julian, just arriving home from an errand down the street, and getting the gist of the situation, stifled his chuckle with a cough and a knowing look to Molly.

"I can drive, if you need?" Julian offered, and not lightly.

"Oh Laddie… yeah that may be best," Greg admitted, with relief. "Seems your wife has little patience…"

"Oh, PISS OFF Uncle," Rosie scolded. "I've no more or less patience than you will have when Josie is in labour. Ennie barely scraped by a near mortal injury. She's survived to carry her line. This foal is no less important to me than a grandchild would be."

"Drinks on me when we get back, Mr. Greg," Julian whispered conspiratorially. "God help me when Riley is making us grandparents… Rosa's bad now, Uncle… shit fire. Can't bloody WAIT."

Greg snorted a laugh, much to Rosie's disgust. He levelled a glance at her, in both warning, and apology.

"Ennie knows what she's doing, Little Lass," Greg finally said. "This may be her first foal but horses in general know what the hell they're doing, and besides, her vet is on standby, and don't forget she's the best equine vet in London. There's plenty of time to get to the stables. You worry too bloody much…"

"But this is ENNIE, Uncle Greg," Rosie insisted. "She's been through SO MUCH…"

"Rosa," Julian soothed, "when all is said and done, she's STILL just a mum like you are. She'll be fine. And you've lots of time to arrive to witness the blessed event…"

Rosie glared at her husband. "Pure jackasses, the both of you," she finally stated, sneering back and forth between Julian and Greg.

"That may be, but you know what sort of stock Ennie is made of, Lass. She's come a long way. She'll be okay. But you realize the longer we stand here arguing…"

"I'm not arguing, you bloody git!" Rosie stated, thoroughly exasperated.

"You ARE arguing, my love," Julian said patiently. "You're the one with the keys to my car and you're blocking the bloody doorway…"

"Oh…" Rosie suddenly said, as she took a deep breath and looked around. "Well, SHIT."

"Have you let the stables know we're en route, Uncle?" Julian asked, matter of factly.

"A full 15 minutes ago, yes. By my watch, we're running late…"

"Oh, speak for yourself, Uncle. I'm driving. We'll just bloody SEE who's running late…" Rosie said, as she headed towards the car.

"Uh UH, Rosa. You are most decidedly NOT driving, not in the state you're in," Julian said firmly, as he whirled in front of her and reached his hand to catch hers. Swiftly reaching down, he retrieved the keys from her hand, as she sighed with exasperation, unresisting. "Besides, a civilian such as yourself has no business behind the wheel of a police car. I'm going to promise, even with me driving we'll be at least an hour early, yeah?" Julian stated casually.

"No less than," Greg nodded. "Well you're the one with the warrant card Laddie. And the sirens. And the lights… Just sayin'."

"Sir? I could possibly, of course… well, there won't be time wasted. I don't do it often. Well… never, really, seems a touch inappropriate... But in this case you're saying I might make an exception?"

"If I weren't retired, I'd make it an order, Detective Sergeant Bailey…" Greg said, with a half smirk to the younger man, and a subtle gesturing with his eyes towards Rosie.

Rosie shook her head, as she fastened her seatbelt. "Very well then Jules, you know the way."

"Yes, he certainly does," Greg remarked, with a pointed look and a wink towards Julian. "Come on then, Julian," he said, as he pulled out his phone. "I'm informing the stables that we're finally en route. Sirens and lights at will, Sergeant. We've a foal to meet…"

Rosie sat back and sighed, closing her eyes with relief. Briefly, she felt bad for being so brusque with both her husband and her uncle. Then, she heard the siren turn on, and she looked over to Julian. Quickly, he glanced towards her with a grin and a wink.

Yes, soon. Very soon. Ennie was in good hands at the stables, she knew. And she was in good hands as well.


	113. Greer's Turn

**_Greer's Turn_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship; mild Humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Ensemble pairings_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Johnnie, Scott, ensemble_

* * *

"Daddy," Johnnie said quietly, when they'd finished their story with him after dinner. "How can we make Greer's birthday special?"

Greg paused a moment, gazing down warmly at his son. He shifted his gaze to his other son, who also looked up at him, quizzically and expectantly.

"Greer always pays attention, Daddy, she always makes sure we all have special days. But her birthday is just so far away…" Scott's expression turned sad, and frustrated.

"But we don't want to WAIT. She's really IS the best little sister, some of our friends have sisters and brothers who only make them cross. Greer never does that with us, Daddy. So we want to SURPRISE her. Greer always says that it isn't REALLY a surprise if you KNOW it's a special day," Johnnie added.

"She's right, you know, Daddy," Scott said, with a grin to his brother, "just… please don't tell her I said that!" he finished, with a mischievous whisper.

Greg chuckled softly, then took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

Usually, he had some sort of answer to queries like this. This time, however, he was at a loss - both for lack of ideas to share, and at amazement that Greer's older brothers thought so highly of their little sister.

"Well, that's a VERY grand idea, sons," he finally said to the young boys. "But I admit, even your old dad isn't sure. Perhaps we should ask around, yeah? I'm sure there are plenty of ideas around the house?"

And so, Johnnie and Scott Lestrade – second and third eldest of the 221 Baker Street children, set out to make a very special surprise for their beloved little sister.

From Ciana Anderson, Greer's best friend in the whole world, they got the idea to make it a striking shade of blue. "She loves soph…ears? Oh bother… those pretty blue stones."

"Ah, sapphires!" Johnnie said, as Scott took notes. "Anything else, CeeCee?"

Ciana smiled bashfully. "She loves white chocolate. At least she seems too. It's my favourite. I THINK she loves it. Oh bother… I'm not sure now, if she REALLY does or she's just being nice to me…" she said, frowning.

"Greer is your best friend, I'm sure she loves what you love, Cee, and she's NOT just being nice. You know that isn't Greer's way at ALL, especially not with YOU," Johnnie said. "You've been a great help, thank you EVER so much." Ciana blushed as he, then Scott, hugged her.

Next, they spoke to Rosie Watson, who happened, as usual, to have Julian for company.

"Roast chicken, like Uncle Greg makes," she said, without hesitation. "With his dressing. But she also likes cake like Daddy makes. Though… I think it's cheesecake. White chocolate."

"Hmmm," Scott said, as he referred to his notes. "Ciana also said she likes white chocolate. This seems to corry… corror… well it matches up," he finally said, with a sheepish smile.

"She prefers candles, she says sparklers make too much of a mess on the cake," Rosie added. "Not sure what else to say…"

"You've said plenty," Scott said, as Johnnie grinned with satisfaction.

"Greer loves a mystery, as well. I'm POSITIVE she's to be a copper someday," Julian said, with a bright smile. "Just like ME," he winked. "Scotland Yard won't know what's hit it once WE'VE joined up!" he giggled confidently, as Rosie sighed at him with a smile and a rolling of her blue eyes.

From there, they went to Michael and Grace Holmes.

"Not much fuss, but much effort, if that makes any sense," Michael said, casually. "Greer does a lot for everyone, she makes sure our parents make special days… but she tries always to be sure that… well, it's EASY."

"That's because she makes sure EVERYONE has something to do, Mikey," Grace said, reflectively. "It's OBVIOUS, really. Many hands make light work, that's what Uncle Phillip always says. And Mummy agrees too. Nobody has a LOT to do, but everyone has SOMETHING to do, and in the end, oh it's LOVELY, and GRAND," she said, with a happy smile.

"Many… hands… make…" Scott murmured to himself, as he wrote in his notebook. Johnnie smiled at this, before pressing onwards.

"I think we can have OUR Daddy cook, and we think Uncle John might bake a cake, though we've yet to ask him… oh he'd NEVER say no if it's for Greer! Mummy can be sure to have everything in blue, and candles but no sparklers…" Johnnie said, thinking out loud more than anything else, really.

"OH, OUR Daddy can make a MYSTERY! Greer LOVES a mystery. Oh I'm SURE she's to be a detective someday," Michael suddenly stated.

"Yes, Daddy is SO clever, and he LOVES Sherla… Greer I mean. I KNOW we can get him to think of a REALLY fun mystery game…" Grace declared, nearly bouncing with excitement.

"A… mystery… game…" Scott said softly, jotting down the ideas. He looked up at Johnnie, as they both remembered what Julian had said about her becoming a copper when she was grown up.

Next, they faced Auntie Alex and Uncle John.

"CHEESECAKE, you say?" Auntie Alex said, with a dreamy expression. "Did you hear that darling? Because I'll repeat it louder for you if need be... They want a cheesecake for Greer…"

"I think I caught the general notion, love," John said, with a sideways grin. "Blue raspberry, or blueberry? For the glaze, I mean?" he asked.

"Oh… Uncle," Scott said, looking to Johnnie.

"Whichever is the SAPPHIRE bluest, Uncle John," the namesake said, beaming.

"Right then… I think I know just what to do…"

Mrs. Hudson was their next stop.

"What in heaven's name is a MOCKTAIL, boys?" she asked, genuinely confused at the notion of anything THAT fancy prepared without alcohol.

"Why, they're drinks of course, for grownups, only made not ONLY for grownups, Grammy," Johnnie said.

"Oh… I think I understand… your Uncle Sherlock might help I think?" Mrs. Hudson asked, with a warm smile.

"Well, he made hot drinkies at Christmas for us that tasted just like what daddy and mummy had, and our uncles and aunties… and you…"

"But, Grams, we were also hoping you might arrange something to go with Uncle Sherlock's plans… you sometimes talk about old friends at the theatre…?"

"Ah, my sweet boys," she said, sitting down and gathering them to her. "I think I know what you're hinting at, and I think that what you're doing for your sister is WONDERFUL. She's a very, very lucky little girl to have big brothers like you! Oh what you're scheming will be SUCH fun!"

Their next stop was a bit trickier. They had to arrange to go with their daddy to New Scotland Yard, and on a day when they had not only the day off from school, but when Uncle Phillip was there with a lighter caseload, AND on a day Greg had relegated himself to desk duty and Molly was off shift early to retrieve them to take them home.

"It's for GREER, Uncle Phil," Scott said, sweetly. "You KNOW you're her FAVOURITE Uncle. Just don't tell Uncle Sherlock," he finished, with a whisper.

"Well, I suppose… I might be able to arrange that. It's innocent enough. And you say Sherlock is to arrange the details?"

"Yes, Uncle," Johnnie said. "Greer LOVES to think. She loves a challenge, I think that's why she loves to arrange things for everyone, it takes effort and consideration," he said, with a small smile.

"I might have guessed Greg and Molly's boys would be this clever and thoughtful," Phillip said, softly. A bit louder, he stated, "Well then, in that case, I think I know JUST what to do. Of course, I shall consult with Sher… I mean UNCLE Sherlock… to make sure it's all correct…"

In the end, Johnnie and Scott Lestrade's surprise to their baby sister went off without a hitch.

A classic dinner theatre – kid friendly, mind – in a closed room mystery format, with Greer set up as their lead Detective.

Greg was surprised, and not surprised at the same time, at the amount of detail his boys had managed to arrange. Molly simply smiled, having had no doubts at the cleverness of her twin sons.

John was happy the cheesecake had turned out alright – they could be tricky things, after all – and Sherlock had paid attention to the most minute of details, and then had taken the time to compose a violin soundtrack, to add to the drama of the game.

Mrs. Hudson had delighted in providing costumes, and drinks to make everyone feel included.

Phillip Anderson, correctly surmising what his "nephews" had been wanting, had provided mock clues and evidence towards the afternoon's festivities, which he and Ciana had planted around 221C whilst Greg and Molly, 'in the know', had their three children out for a visit to the park.

But Greer, beside herself with joyous excitement, had a bit of trouble believing anyone would go to this amount of trouble and fuss just for HER.

"I'm only your little sister, though," she said to Scott first, then glanced up to Johnnie. "I'm not that special, really."

Scott rolled his eyes as Johnnie giggled. "Of COURSE you are, Greer! Don't be silly. You always make sure everyone has a special day. It was just about time it was YOUR turn, is all."

Greer smiled at this, thinking to herself she really did have the best big brothers any girl could ask for.


	114. Retrospect

**_Retrospect_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Drama, Angst, Family; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Ensemble pairings_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Scott and ensemble_

* * *

Greg stopped himself in his tracks, some distance away from Molly. It had been two weeks, yet he still knew where to find her. He took deep, bracing breaths, trying to control his own emotions and reactions, even now still raw. When, finally, he felt he'd regained his composure, he quietly advanced towards his wife.

"Molly," he whispered, hoarsely. But Molly didn't seem to hear him, at first, or even notice his presence.

Instead, she stared off into the cemetery, her face awash in utter heartbreak. She brought her hand up to her mouth, stifling sobs, and not for the first time that week - or the one leading to it either, for that matter.

"Molly, Love," Greg repeated, as he reached his arms around her. Finally, she noticed him, and collapsed backwards into his embrace.

"I have no idea what to say or do, Gregory," she choked out. "Oh, our beautiful, beautiful boy. I can't bear to see him like this…" she said, allowing herself to dissolve for a few moments.

"Johnnie is his own person, he's somewhere in the middle of being both of ours. Greer is my girl. Scott though… he's always seemed more drawn to you than his siblings have. Molly," Greg breathed, feeling his own composure cracking, "go to him. Just go, Love."

Molly averted her gaze back into the cemetery, letting it rest upon her son. Scott kneeled at the side of a grave, the dirt not yet settled, though it was showing signs of time already passing, sun and breeze converting the loose damp soil into softly forming clumps of dried earth. Limply, his hand rested on the loose gritty mound.

Greg pressed a kiss to his wife's hair, then cleared his throat. His voice still hoarse, he urged her forward. "Go on now, Love. Our boy needs his mum."

* * *

 ** _TWO WEEKS PRIOR…_**

"Johnnie?" Josie asked gently, as she approached her husband in their bedroom. "Darling why are you here?"

John William Lestrade sucked in a breath, as though only just noticing he wasn't alone in the room.

"Dressing, of course. What else would I be doing, Joey?" Johnnie seemed oddly distant, unnaturally controlled.

"Well, that's a loaded question…" Josie replied, as she approached him. Wordlessly, she reached her hands up to his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, brushing away tears that were suddenly streaming down his face.

"You know I'll be fine, myself and Aiden. It's not us who need you today, love," she said softly. "It's your other half. It's Scott you should be with. Without you, he's lost. He's… incomplete."

John let out a humourless choked laugh. "ME! I don't complete him, Joey! SHE did. Megan. MEGAN completed him. Just as you complete me... Our dear, sweet Megan completed my brother..."

"Perhaps," Josie conceded, as she wordlessly guided him towards their bed. Without explanation, she urged him to sit next to her on the edge. "But you and Scott share a connection. I remember how overjoyed… how ECSTATIC he was, when you and I got married. It were as though HE were marrying me too. And now he's lost Meg, and… it's as though YOU'VE lost her too. You and your brother share more than just DNA, darling. You are of the same mind, the same heart, the same SOUL. You ALWAYS have been."

Johnnie said nothing as he lowered his face into his hands, his composure crumbling. "My heart is broken, and it shouldn't be, Josephine," he sobbed. "I have EVERYTHING!" he spat. "I have you and our son… Scott has just lost…"

"And you feel it. I say it again darling. With me and our baby is not where you need to be. Yes, you have me. Mum and Dad have each other. Greer has Sam... but that one person who would have been there for Scott on this bleak and sorrowful day of all days is the very reason we're all having to gather in the first place. He feels utterly alone, even surrounded by people who love him dearly he feels utterly, completely alone. Go to Scott, love. Now. Please. Today of ALL days he needs his brother by his side."

Johnnie took a deep breath, and cleared his throat. Finally lifting his gaze, he met his wife's eyes, and nodded.

* * *

 ** _THREE WEEKS PRIOR…_**

"How is he?" Alex asked, quietly, as she stood next to John.

Dr. John Watson shrugged his shoulders. "His injuries are minor. He's being kept for observation overnight, then he's to be released in the morning."

"Darling, that's not what I asked," Alex said, as she heaved a sigh. It was an exhausted breath, an overwhelmed breath. A heartbroken breath. John recognized it. They were breaths he himself was taking only a few minutes prior to his wife's arrival to his side.

"It is what it is," John said, his voice breaking at the familiar words, spoken to Sherlock so many years ago. "And what it is, is shit."

"Yes," Alex said, her own eyes welling up with tears that had built up all day, since the whole nightmare for their extended family had begun several hours ago.

Later on, neither Watson could say exactly who fell apart first in the arms of the other. All they knew, at that point, was the grief.

* * *

 _ **THREE WEEKS, 1 HOUR PRIOR**_

"Old Plod?" a familiar voice summoned from her doorway. "Sally darling. There's been an accident."

"What sort of accident," Sally asked, as she broke her focus from her work. "Accidents aren't our division, Git. We're CID."

"No, they're not," Sherlock admitted softly, as he stepped all the way into her office. "And of course you are... but the people involved ARE your division, Sally."

Sally caught her breath, her heart suddenly leaping into her throat, choking her and making her want to vomit suddenly. "Sherlock... what's going on?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush. "There was a two vehicle accident. The vehicle at fault suffered a fatality, as near as I know, it was a 41 year old accountant. The other vehicle wasn't in the wrong. An off-duty paramedic and his female companion…"

Sally's eyes grew wide as she sat down heavily.

"Oh God, Sherlock. Scott or Johnnie?".

"Whatever I say is going to break your heart…" her husband warned.

Sally took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

"Megan, darling. Scott is in the operating theatre to repair minor injuries, but I'm afraid Meg... her injuries were too severe. The impact was on the passenger side and the air bag failed to deploy..." he trailed off.

Sally had no idea what was going on as she tried desperately to absorb what she was being told, but she knew enough to ask, "Greg and Molly?"

"They're at the hospital waiting for us. John and Alex are already there of course." Sherlock took a deep breath. "Thank God Johnnie was off-duty as well, he may have inadvertently taken the call. Oh, how desperately I miss Mrs. Hudson at times like these," he said sadly."

Sally nodded at this, then rose to her feet. Sherlock retrieved her coat, holding it up for her to slip into. "Julian is waiting downstairs to take us to the hospital, darling," he said softly, as he took her arm to lead her out.

* * *

 ** _FOUR MONTHS PRIOR…_**

"I'm not sure I've ever seen Scott so happy," Greer said to Sam, as they settled into The Nook. "I was beginning to think he'd never settle down like John has. I was beginning to think my brother was to be a confirmed bachelor!"

Sam laughed at this, as Josie appeared at the tail end of her shift, delivering a scotch, neat – in his wife's honour – to Sam, and a club soda with lime to the expectant Greer.

"I should be jealous, darling," she said, as she scootched closer to Sam, "but I'm not. Oh, there's something to be said for plain old soda and lime," she declared, sipping delicately, but with a happy expression.

"Other than it makes you belch," Sam said lightly, with a teasing gleam. "And in enough quantity, fart like one of Rosie and Dad's beloved horses..."

"I'm pregnant with your child, Samuel. If I want to belch, and fart for that matter, I'll bloody well belch AND fart. It's the least of what I'm going through for YOUR baby," Greer stated, teasingly.

"She's right, you know," Josie said, as she slid into the booth, having just returned after a momentary absence, just long enough to drop off her tray, abandon her apron, and clock out for the day. Now officially off-shift, Josie appeared with an identical drink to Greer's.

"There's many a trial a woman will endure towards motherhood, so she's a perfect right to put her husband through something else of a trial as well. Anyway I developed a taste for soda and lime myself when I was pregnant with Aiden," she said, settling down next to Greer.

"So The Brothers Grin are to join us soon then?" Sam asked, as he stared off towards the door. "I've gathered they were both on shift tonight, and this mysterious lady that Scott has been hinting at for nearly two weeks is to join us?"

"I believe so, yes," Greer said, as she brought her fist up to her chest, with a small burp. "Oh, this pregnancy brain, I swear I'd forget my own name if it weren't for my bloody warrant card…"

However, Greer found herself, to her delight, relieved of the responsibility of remembering names.

"Brother, Sisters," Scott said proudly, as he approached with a young lady on his arm, "This is Megan Jenkins. I've held off introducing her until we saw where if anywhere this was leading… but I think now," he said softly, shifting his gaze towards the softly smiling, nearly bashful looking young woman on his arm, "I'm safe to introduce her."

Next to him, Megan smiled warmly, before she turned her beaming smile back up towards him.

* * *

 _ **SIX MONTHS PRIOR…**_

"I think she fancies you," Johnnie said with a wink, as he gestured with his chin, and a mischievous grin.

"What, who? Meg? I'm not even close to HER league, brother," Scott said with a laugh. "She could date anyone she wanted, in fact she probably already IS," he finished, with a determined look of 'and that's that' to his twin.

"Gregory Scott," John said, with a frustrated sigh. "You're a Lestrade. In case you've missed it, we look exactly like DAD did at our age. You've seen pictures of dad back then, yeah? Now I count myself blessed to have Josie but really, brother… you're a right bloody good catch. Just… saying…"

"You're insane, John William," Scott said, even as he gazed thoughtfully towards the stunning petite dispatcher.

"You REALLY think?" Scott finally asked, shifting his gaze back towards his twin brother.

"YEAH, I really think," John replied, with a burst of laughter. "You only live once, brother. You've been something of a roving gypsy boy, seeming to be wandering about looking for your soulmate. Who knows… maybe she's her? Never know until you try."

Scott paused at this, digesting the advice.

Never know until you try.

"Alright, then," he said, glancing back towards her. "Here goes nothing."

John stood back and leaned against the wall, watching from a distance as his brother approached the young lady in question.

"Hey," Scott said. "Can't say I know your face, but your voice is quite familiar, and quite… well… comforting. Many's the call I've heard it."

"Scott Lestrade, is it?" Megan replied, smiling softly. "I know yours as well. You sound a lot like your brother, but I can tell you apart. I'm Megan," she said, holding out her hand.

Scott took it, with a subtle bow and a smile that made his brown eyes shine. "Yeah, it's Scott. Say, Megan… would you care to have a drink with me sometime?"


	115. Siblings

**_Siblings_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greer, Scott, Johnnie, Greg and Molly cameo_

* * *

"But..!" Greer protested, as Johnnie tucked her in. "I'm NOT TIRED. John William Lestrade STOP that!" she grumbled, as he fluffed her pillow. "Oh bollocks you're SO bloody annoying!"

The twin brothers chose to ignore their spirited sister's rather more spirited phrasing, in light of her recent chest infection. That taken into account, and how awful they knew she'd been feeling, they could forgive it easily enough. Between Uncle John's prescription of antibiotics, and the care of Daddy and Mummy, but truly – if everyone were to be honest about it - mostly two devoted and very, VERY patient big brothers who could withstand her protests and convince her to take her medicine like a big girl, even if it was out of pure spite on her part... Greer had managed to recover quite satisfactorily, in their professional opinions, of course.

"Greer, you've been terribly sick, and you're nearly well, but you're not quite there yet… we can't risk you backsliding is all," Scott said, as he made sure her water glass was freshly filled. "Besides, you've two full days left of the medication Uncle John gave you, and he made it quite clear you were to take ALL of them. What did he call it?"

"I think he said it was a "full course" or something… anyway he said that meant she wasn't to stop taking them just because she felt better," Johnnie said, as he eyed up the bottle of caplets, checking the slip of paper where he and Scott had been keeping track of her dosages, carefully following Uncle John's instructions. Pondering this, and knowing when they'd given her the last one, he decided her next was due right about now.

"But I'm not sick anymore, Scott," she whimpered, as she felt her head grow light. Scott looked at Johnnie, sharing a subtle eyeroll.

"Your sister is IMPOSSIBLE, Johnnie," Scott said, with a playful huff. Greer scowled at him, a look fit to kill. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her brown eyes turned an ominous shade of flashing grey.

"MY sister, you say? Well MY sister is a sweet, caring young lassie who never disagrees and never makes trouble, and she's always doing things for others just because she loves them so. This must be YOUR sister, Scott…" Johnnie said lightly. He maneuvered out of reach as Greer pulled her arm out from under the covers to take a swing at her young caregiver.

"There's NOTHING wrong with your sister, you bloody dolt. Your BROTHER, on the other hand," she said angrily, before the tickle in her throat got the better of her, sending her off into a coughing fit.

"Aw no, Greer," Scott said, concerned, "we don't MEAN to tease you so badly. It's just that we're your big brothers and it's kind of our job to egg you on a bit… Truth is, we're grateful you've let us look after you while you've been so ill. You're our sister, we wouldn't want to be ANYWHERE else, we promise. Now, Uncle John is a DOCTOR, so he knows what he's talking about. Just TWO more days, Greer, that's all…" Scott crawled up onto her covers, propping her up with his arm wrapped behind her and leaning her against him to help her coughing subside more easily. Johnnie smiled at this, reaching for her glass of water.

"Here, have a sip, it might help," he offered soothingly, as her coughing fit subsided, before crawling up to take a place on her other side. Sneakily, Johnnie brought his hand up, touching her cheek, then her forehead. Scott watched as he frowned slightly. "Seems a bit warm, I reckon," he said. "Nothing serious I'm sure, maybe just a bit flushed from coughing... But Greer you are DEFINITELY not better yet. But at least if you were going to get sick you did it during the school holiday. Here," he said, as he held a dosage of the antibiotic up to her mouth, "this is the last of the night. Uncle John's instructions…"

Greer said nothing, only heaving a tired, deep sigh, as she took the pill with the offered glass of water. "I'm so tired still," she said softly, after she'd swallowed it. "I'm sorry if I've been cranky, and a lousy patient. It's just SO hard to be cheerful when you feel so bloody dreadful," she said sadly. She shifted her head to look up to first Scott, then to Johnnie, smiling gratefully, "but I'm SO glad you've both been here with me. You've made me not so… bored. And you really have helped me to feel better."

"She must be fading fast, she sounds awfully docile and polite," Scott giggled, before regaining his composure. "I'm rather tired myself, actually," he said, as he settled Greer back. The young girl yawned as she snuggled against her big brother's arm, still wrapped protectively around her.

"Here," Johnnie said, reaching for a blanket on the chair next to the bed. "We might just as well stay here until she's sleeping soundly. Anyway, I'm rather comfortable," he said, yawning widely. Scott only nodded sleepily as he grabbed the end of the blanket, stretching it across the bed. Johnnie settled in, draping an arm across his sister.

From the doorway, Molly gazed in at her children – one last check before bedtime - then looked up to Greg, standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist. Greg said nothing, merely grinning back, before averting his attention back to the three siblings, now sound asleep and dreaming peacefully.

"I think we ought to leave them well enough alone, yeah?" Greg whispered into her ear. "The boys seem to have the situation in hand."

"Indeed they do," Molly said, with a yawn. "May their slumber be peaceful and their dreams be sweet…" she murmured softly.


	116. Fare Thee Well, Love

**Fare Thee Well, Love**

 ** _Genre:_** _Angst, FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Scott and posthumous Megan_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Scott, introducing Millie, the current Baker Street Beagle, in a cameo, and Elizabeth Megan Ciana McTavish, in mentioning_

* * *

 _"_ _My Darling Meg,"_ Scott wrote, as he steeled himself at the small desk, in the office of 221C – once Greer's bedroom, in earlier times, but now converted into a small personal space, for whomever might require it. It was a well-loved room, a sanctuary of sorts now. Since Greer's occupation, with her help (in nesting mode no less), it had been outfitted with a small electric fireplace housed within a book shelf, a small love seat, and a desk fully kitted out with stationery of varying styles, envelopes, and writing tools. Here, private moments had been kept private, yet still purged onto paper.

On this day, as it happened, it was six months to the day when they had all had lost Megan... but Scott, most of all.

 _"_ _I know it hasn't been long since you've left us, or perhaps it has been but I've not felt it to be… but I wanted to say again how very much I love you. It was always my intention to remain absolutely faithful to you,"_ he wrote, pausing only to take a sip from the cup of tea his Mum had prepared for him. _"And of course, it still is. But I find myself becoming… so very lonely for companionship these days."_

He closed his eyes, unsure what to do about the sudden memories that were bombarding him. He felt tears brimming to the surface, and refused them as best he could.

Finally, he composed himself. _"_ _John and Josie seem to feel almost… GUILTY in my presence of late, as though they wish they weren't so HAPPY in front of me. They seem remorseful when I spend time with Aiden, as though my nephew were reminding me of something I nearly had with you, but can never have now. Of course I can never resent them, or especially that beautiful boy. I assure you Meg, he is absolutely the apple of his Uncle's eye... or one of two at least."_ Scott paused at this to rise momentarily to open the door, letting in Millie, 221 Baker Street's current resident pocket beagle.

"Being ignored, were you, flop-eared lassie?" Scott said softly. Millie simply sniffed around the room, her nose to the floor and her tail in motion, then settled solidly on top of his feet, a chew toy between her front paws. Shaking his head with a small smile at the extreme focus of a hound, even as her tail casually wagged in adoration of his presence, he returned to his task.

 _"_ _The truth is Meggie,"_ Scott wrote, pausing. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. _"I don't resent them at all. I know there are people in our lives who are our life partners. You weren't meant to be mine… but my darling, beautiful Meg… I was apparently meant to be yours."_ At this, his breath caught, and he allowed himself to fall apart for a short, needed time.

 _"_ _Greer, oh our Greer. She seems to understand somehow. She tells me all the time that I shouldn't feel GUILTY for being lonely, for longing to have once again what we had. She says it's only natural. She says so with sadness, though,"_ he wrote. _"She reminds me again and again that this is not what you would have wanted for me. Where she gets the wisdom from I'll never know. But you know Greer. She never did call a spade a spade, even since she was a very little girl. She's always called it a bloody shovel."_ Scott paused here, smiling with a small burst of chuckle. _"Actually, that's not QUITE what she calls it… but you get the general idea, Meg. Even in front of her daughter,"_ he reflected, with the pride only possible from an uncle of one of Greer's offspring. _"Oh she's so tiny and perfectly Lestrade, you'd adore her. Sam doesn't even seem to care that their baby doesn't seem to take after him much. In fact, the silly git seems DELIGHTED that she favours Greer. They named her after you, you know, in a way. Elizabeth Megan Ciana. They'll apparently call her Beth. But to me, she'll always be Meggie."_

Here, he paused several minutes, thinking, and reflecting. He allowed a few tears to form, and fall, before shaking his head and regaining composure.

 _"_ _I think now, knowing what you would have wanted, and knowing how I feel… that perhaps one day, should such a thing happen, I MIGHT actually be able to love someone else. I've no idea what the future holds, of course, nobody does. But Mum put it quite reasonably when she explained to me how she once felt for Uncle Sherlock, and how he persuaded her to look instead to Dad… how she managed, in time, to reconcile the love she felt for both of them, into what it became, and what it remains to this day."_

Scott paused, rising from the small desk. He glanced down apologetically at Millie, only to find she was completely absorbed in destroying her toy. Walking over to the window, he looked out, watching the gentle rainfall hit the ground from the street level viewpoint that the basement flat afforded. He allowed himself, for a few minutes, to become mesmerized, letting his mind and heart settle into what he had to say next. It took several minutes for Scott to realize that Millie had abandoned her toy to sit next to him, with curiosity. He glanced down, finding himself face to face with the adoring look of a hound. "You must be a Holmes at heart," he muttered softly. "Can't show you love, unless you think you're not being watched," he concluded. Millie simply wagged her tail again, with a small whine of ackowlegement. Finally, Scott turned back to his task, Millie quietly following to settle once again at his feet.

 _"_ _Mum told me,"_ Scott wrote, settling back down at the desk, _"that she realized that she didn't have to stop loving Uncle Sherlock in order to start loving Dad. For her, she explained, it was simply a matter of moving Uncle Sherlock into another part of her heart, and leaving the space he once occupied open for Dad. In that way, she said, she didn't have to give him up to love Dad. It was simply a difference between loving someone, and being IN love with someone."_

 _"_ _I have nobody I'm in love with, Meg. Still, only you. But now at least I know, now I've learned, and understand, and have accepted, that someday, should she come along, another may take your place in that part of my heart which is reserved for the woman I am in love with. I will always love you, always always my beautiful Meg. I'd ask your forgiveness, but I now think… I KNOW, I don't really need it."_

Scott took a deep breath, allowing his focus to wander around the room.

 _"_ _I remain forever yours, and you remain forever mine, in whatever part of my heart you should be in"_ he concluded…

 _"Fare Thee Well, Love..._ _Scott."_

* * *

 _ **AUTHOR'S NOTE: To one, now gone these nearly 7 years, who was not to be my life partner, but I was to be his. Fare thee well, Love.**_


	117. The Best of Both Worlds

**_The Best of Both Worlds_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greer and Sam, Greg and Molly, John and Josie, all background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sam, Josie cameo_

* * *

"Are you SURE, Samuel?" Greg asked, concerned.

"Dad…" Sam said, smiling more to himself than anything as he and his father-in-law sat in The Nook, "If I weren't sure I wouldn't be bringing it up to you. I just feel that returning to teaching in a year or two would be far easier for me than returning to duties with the Met would be for Greer…"

"Samuel… son… have you even brought this up with your wife?" Greg asked, as he raised his pint of ale to take a pull. "You know as well as any of us how strong willed she is. If she takes a notion there's no budging it."

"Dad, you forget, I'm a Brit born Saskatchewan raised lad. There's just something about a Canadian prairie boy that makes us rather hardy and determined stock. No mistakes, any given challenge you WILL hear me say, 'Hold my beer and watch this'," Sam laughed lightly. "I believe this is partly why Greer and I hit it off the way we did when I returned to London. She may be a Lestrade but I'm Saskatchewan raised. I just may prevail in the end…" Sam fairly winked.

Greg laughed heartily at this, agreeing in his own way. "So, what you're proposing is simply… for you to take a leave of absence to care for Beth, once Greer's own leave from the Yard is up, allowing her to resume her duties as a Met Detective. I won't lie, Son, I'm in awe," Greg finally said.

"Well, yes, once her own leave expires. A baby needs their mother of course, and Greer WANTS that… but I know her, Dad. She won't be content for long to be sitting at home with the routine, being a little Susie Homemaker. She's loves being a mum, but in the end…" he trailed off, shifting almost uncomfortably.

"In the end, she's a copper's heart. And the lifespan of a copper's career compared to the years actually spent raising a child… I understand your thinking, Sam." Greg shook his head, "it's so much different speaking as a father than as a mother. Molly and I managed, quite well I think. But then we had a lot of support, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock and Sally, John and eventually Alexandra. Rosie too in time," Greg laughed. "And of course Julian."

Sam glanced over at Josie, back to work thanks to Johnnie cutting back his own hours so they may share the rearing of little Aiden equally. "We have support as well. Oh EVERYONE, Dad. But I just feel… catching up again as a teacher would be a lot easier than catching up as a copper. There are so many factors… and anyway I look forward to the break. To be a daddy and allow Greer to pick up where she left off… well I've got my school kids," he laughed lightly. "They're just teenagers learning to build things and fix engines and such. The current curriculums are easy enough to stay up with, and I can substitute teach and tutor in the meantime to keep myself from becoming a bit rusty... But really I can take a year or two off and still have them there when I return."

"So you've really already decided then, Son," Greg replied, with a smile. "You're taking leave to be the primary caregiver to your daughter. I admit I have no idea where Greer would lean. She's so PASSIONATE, in everything she does. Whether she would insist upon staying home to be a mum or accept your support and return to active duty with the Yard… For as well as I know my Little Love I have no clue what she'd do here…" Greg confessed.

"She's driven, and will become… not bored with being a Mum, not at ALL," he insisted. "But I think rather restless… she's meant to be a copper, and I want to be her support, and when the time comes, to help her see she need not feel guilt or overwhelming responsibility, that she can return to duty without worry if that's where her heart lies." Sam paused thoughtfully. "I've learned a copper's heart, Dad," Sam smiled, as he distracted his gaze.

Greg cleared his throat as he composed himself. "I was married once to a woman who didn't understand that. It's why so many marriages fail within the police force," Greg said, carefully. "I'm not saying it was her fault, really. We just weren't as good a match as we thought at first, was all. Last I heard she re-married to someone more suited to her, and they've been together… well almost as long as Molly and I have been," Greg laughed softly. "I suppose what I'm saying Sam, is that you and Greer have gotten it right. The first try, no less."

Sam grinned at his father-in-law. "I'm glad to have your support, Dad," he said, as Josie arrived to place the last round of her shift in front of them. "Now to see if Greer will be agreeable… if I can show her she can have the best of both her worlds. She may be hard to convince, or she may be an easy sell."

Josie smiled softly at Sam as she placed his fresh drink in front of him. She reached out, squeezing her brother-in-law's shoulder reassuringly. "Greer will agree, Sam. I know her heart as well…" she said. "I'll be back for the evening soon."

Greg smiled after Josie, once again appreciating the blessings life had afforded. "Well, Samuel… time will tell. But she's always been open to listening to reason. She's often been the voice of it as well. I suggest," he said, as he looked upon his daughter-in-law in action, "we wait for Josie to come off shift. She's a mum's perspective on this. If you've any doubts or trepidations, I'm sure she can set them at ease."

"I've gathered she's a voice of reason too," Sam said, as he looked over, smiling at Johnnie's wife. "There's a damned good head on those shoulders, isn't there," he laughed. "Practical and sensible. I know John has said as such here. He loves being more hands on with Aiden," Sam reflected. "And Josie has the freedom to not feel trapped by those so-called traditional roles. I think that's what I want for Greer, really, Dad," he said. He paused a moment to reflect, before raising his gaze up to Greg's waiting look.

"Well, in the end it's her decision to make. But I have to say, son, I'm proud of you for this. I'm sure whatever she decides things will work out as they're meant to."

Sam nodded, grinning at his father-in-law. "Well, they always do, don't they?"


	118. Above and Beyond

**_Above and Beyond_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship; Drama; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Rosie and Julian, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Julian, Johnnie, Scott, introducing PC Naomi Jacobsen_

* * *

Julian Bailey thought hazily about that old saying, "He never knew what hit him." Dreamily, he pondered this. He supposed there could be no question, that old cliché definitely didn't apply in this case. He might feel a bit out of sorts – alright, a LOT out of sorts – but he definitely knew he'd just been shot.

Blinking his eyes to clear the fog, he looked down at the young Police Constable, draped over his body, with her both of her hands rather provocatively squeezing his thigh. Didn't seem quite proper, Julian reckoned, until he realized he was sitting in a pool of something warm, wet, and sticky.

He raised his hand to rouse the young woman, who, he soon realized, was quite coherent, and very much awake – she was merely focused, was all. He pulled his hand away quickly as he felt more of that warm stickiness, and with a sickening thud to his gut as the nauseating scent of copper assaulted his senses, realized it wasn't from him, this time.

"Oh, bollocks," he whispered, breathlessly, as he studied his hand – holding it in front of him as if it were something he'd never seen before. "Constable," he said softly, breathlessly, "you've been shot, I think."

"Oh? Sir?" she responded, glancing up to him, a curious look in her sapphire blue eyes. "Oh… THAT," she said lightly. "Never mind that sir, it's just a graze."

"Hmmm," he murmured, in thoughtful agreement, pausing as if in reflection. "Constable?" Julian said suddenly, dimly aware of approaching sirens and the fact that what he sat in was a pool of his own blood. When he received no response, he reached up again. "Naomi," he said, a bit more firmly. "You can let go of my leg now."

Naomi Jacobsen, a Police Constable three quarters of the way through her rookie year with New Scotland Yard, calmly gazed up at her superior. "No, Sir, I'm afraid I can't do that," she said, almost apologetically. "I believe the bullet YOU took didn't simply graze you. You see, Sir," she explained with a comforting tone, "based upon the arterial spray from your wound, I would guess at the very least it nicked your femoral artery. Sir, if I let go of your leg, I'm afraid you may bleed out right here."

"Oh," Julian said dreamily, as his head began to feel light, taking a closer look at her face, now realizing that her freckles weren't really freckles, for they covered not only her face, but her neck and her uniform shirt - but rather they were dots and spatters of what he could only assume now was his own blood. "I see. Well then, in that case… carry on, Constable."

Naomi smiled at him. "Yes, Sir, thank you Sir. I believe the ambulance is nearly here. You've taken a single bullet to your left thigh, a through and through. Well at least they won't have to go digging around for the slug, that's always a good thing, isn't it, Sir," she laughed softly. "Stay with me Sir, I see them turning onto the street now. That's it," she encouraged. "They're just pulling up now, and will you just look at that, you've made it. And I think it's the Lestrade boys too, aren't we both in luck! I've heard they're the best of the best."

Julian opened his eyes at the words, thinking to himself as the sequence of events began to return to him, that this young woman was going to be put in for a commendation once he'd recovered his faculties.

"Oh, bloody hell, Julian," Scott Lestrade said, as he ran over to them, dropping his bag. "What have you gone and done?"

Julian smiled then threw his head back and laughed weakly. "I've gotten myself into a bit of a pickle, it seems. And this young woman has saved my life. In more ways than just one, at that."

Constable Jacobsen blushed at this, or would have, if she hadn't already been pale from shock and her own blood loss, which, to be fair, was relatively minor compared to her superior's.

"Oh?" John said, settling down on the ground across from Naomi. Gently, he encouraged her to let go of the wound as he took over the care of it, while Scott busied himself taking a good look at Naomi's injury, her bleeding already slowed considerably.

"When I have a chance, it will be a point of official record that Police Constable Naomi Christina Jacobsen put herself directly into the line of fire, using her own body as a shield to protect me after I'd gone down with a gunshot wound to the leg," Julian stated, as officially as he could under the circumstances.

"She's a very lucky lass, I reckon," Scott said, as he studied her face, seeing something in her eyes that was hauntingly familiar… yet he couldn't quite place it. "I mean, stab vests aren't designed to stop a bullet." He tried to ignore the sudden icy knot in his belly as a very different scenario flashed through his mind while he expertly bandaged her wound. "I'm going to guess that you were shot after you fell to the ground and not before?"

Naomi, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious, simply nodded. "DS Bailey went down, and I… I guess I didn't really think. His leg was spurting blood… I knew I had to stop it without delay… I'm not honestly sure at which point I was shot myself, I only knew I had to protect him, whatever the cost. I mean, he's got a wife at home, a baby… I couldn't…" she suddenly teared up.

John frowned thoughtfully, glancing back and forth between his brother and the young woman.

"It's alright, Naomi," John said, in the soothing way he and Scott had while on duty. "You don't' have to elaborate."

"No, you don't understand," she insisted, as she cleared her throat, trying to stop her voice from becoming thick. "I couldn't let her feel what I feel… it's too hard. I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

Scott caught his breath, the memory of a crushing loss punching him squarely in the gut. So that's what it was about her eyes, then. Shaking his head, he looked to John. "Ready?" he asked suddenly, as he rose to his feet.

John, still frowning slightly, shook the distracted thoughts from his mind. With a half-smile and nod in acknowledgement, he watched after Scott as he went to retrieve the stretcher.

Julian, now feeling a bit more coherent, studied both of his friends, then glanced to the young Police Constable who had used herself as a shield in order to save him… and it would seem, save his Rosa from losing her husband. In a flash, he realized the younger woman had the protective instincts of a mother as well - explaining why she'd done what she'd done without a second thought.

"Naomi," Julian said quietly, as he reached up to attract her attention to him. "You've gone above and beyond the call of duty today. I'll not forget it, and I promise you, neither will my wife, and when my daughter is old enough, she'll know was well what you've done today. We owe you a debt I'm not sure we can ever repay."

Naomi took a deep breath, suddenly feeling exhausted. She glanced, speechless, at her superior officer, as Scott returned to her side, helping her to her feet.

"This way then, lass," he said gently, as he took her arm, holding her up from wobbly knees. "You know, it does get easier, in time," he said quietly, as he leaned his face towards her ear, his voice just above a whisper. "It's never effortless, it will never be effortless… and we never forget, but in time… the pain does subside."

"Oh, you've been shot before too?" she asked him curiously, not quite understanding. She looked into his eyes, as was her habit when talking to someone, and suddenly her breath caught. "Ah… no, you haven't taken a bullet, not a literal one, any road," she said.

Scott glanced at her, knowing this young woman he'd only just met understood him better than anyone he knew, apart from Uncle John. With no further words, he helped her into the back of the ambulance. With a signal to John, and a sudden fanfare of lights and sirens, they pulled away from the scene.


	119. Healing

**_Healing_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship; Drama; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Rosie and Julian; Scott and Naomi friendship_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Rosie, Julian, Scott and Naomi mentioned_

* * *

"Oh, BOLLOCKS," was the declaration, loud and adamant.

Rosie Bailey rolled her eyes. "Jules, you're recovering…"

"I'm aware of that Rosa," Julian said, supressing a gasp of frustration and pain.

"… From a gunshot wound," Rosie reminded him, with the patience of what could only be described as a saint… or a nurse, with an injured husband.

"YES, I remember that as well," Julian said, leaning against a wall for support, with a raised eyebrow and a huff.

"That nearly killed you," his wife said. "You would have bled out if not for Naomi."

Julian sighed, then smiled, rolling his eyes heavenwards. "That I recall also, my love," he said quietly, embarassingly almost.

"And yet, here you are less than a week later trying to swan about our flat as if nothing had happened," Rosie scolded gently, as she took his arm to steer him towards the sofa that Julian had finally resigned himself to. "You're not recovered yet, Silly Goose. Not even close. Your leg has a lot of healing left to do."

"I'm sorry Rosa… I'm just so bloody restless. I can't sit still for the life of me. If Aunt Sally would only assign me to desk duty I'd even be happy with THAT."

Rosie smiled, as she shook her head at the folly of her impatient husband. "Well in spite of Uncle Sherlock's dogged assessment of Yarders in general, you lot aren't stupid. Well… most of you aren't, anyway," she said teasingly, winking at Julian. "Uncle Greg suggested Aunt Sally might be convinced if the argument in favour were sound enough, to assign you light desk duties from HOME. Anyway she's enough in the loop to know better than to allow you within a half kilometre of bloody New Scotland Yard."

"Spoilsports, the lot of them," Julian grumbled. "Sticks in the mud. Party poopers… they've all broomsticks up their asses." He frowned at the floor, then raised his head and gazed at his wife with the saddest green eyed expression he could manage.

"Oh, give me a bloody break," was the roll-eyed response. "If I'm immune to a beagle's puppy dog look, I'm sure as hell not going to cave to a melancholy Irishman's." Glancing back with a single raised eyebrow and a crooked pursing of her lips, Rosie tried not to sneer at her pouting husband as she heard the call of their daughter.

"How is Constable Jacobsen, by the way?" Rosie asked, as she darted into the nursery to check on Riley. "John tells me Scott has taken an interest in her recovery? As a friend, of course?"

Julian settled himself more comfortably on their sofa, distracted for the moment by his wife's small talk.

"She's as well as you could expect, I reckon," Julian said, only as loud as needed for Rosie to hear. As she entered the room with their daughter in her arms, he adjusted his volume accordingly.

"The loss of her husband was… well it still is quite difficult. In some ways Rosa, I see our incident as… I don't know. Fate, I suppose? Naomi needed someone to confide in who understood how she felt. I mean, truly understand… not just someone to listen, but to KNOW, you know?"

"And Scott needed the same. Naomi's wound was superficial, yours was a bit more serious but really… that bullet didn't even nick your femur, only your artery… oh hell, Jules, as if even THAT were minor… but you were taken care of. She made sure of it. She's meant to be in our midst, I think. I don't know in what capacity exactly, or for how long… she just… IS."

"I think, Rosa," Julian said, as he reached out for his wife, taking her hand and drawing her and the baby towards him, "Scott has found a friend and confidante, and so has Naomi. They understand each other on so many levels, Love," he murmured. Rosie smiled and carefully seated herself next to him. "For now, they both need healing. And they will help each other towards that."

"I think," Rosie said thoughtfully, as she leaned herself and their daughter back against Julian's outstretched arm – still mindful of his healing leg, "Naomi will soon join the Lestrades in The Nook, yes?"

Julian smiled at this, thinking, pondering, dreaming, hoping, but still saying nothing. "Well, friends do occasionally join them… time will tell." he finally conceded. "I don't know what will happen with them, if anything beyond what they have. I only know that they're suited, but neither of them are ready to move on in that way. Scott perhaps is closer to it… but he's not there yet. He's come far, but there's still… so very much healing left."

Rosie nodded her head at this, and they were silent for several moments. "I'm tired, Rosa," Julian finally admitted. "My earlier attempts were bloody stupid, but I know I don't need to tell you that. I'm a fool, nothing more. If only my body were up to date with my mind and heart, I'd be off to the bloody races by now," he said, drawing her closer for a soft peck.

Rosie kept a stiff upper lip, refusing to react. "Yes, you ARE a fool, Julian Andrew Bailey." She glared at him sternly, until his green eyed gaze, which always, since childhood even, made her heart skip a beat and her resolve weak… made her pause.

"But you're MY fool, and I wouldn't have you any other way," she said, leaning in to kiss him softly.


	120. Resilience

**_Resilience_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Angst_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Greer_

* * *

Greer stood in the doorway, unseen, listening in. She knew it was a bit naughty, but her mummy and daddy looked so sad and so worried, she just couldn't help herself.

Greer also knew, because observing and watching and thinking about it all – what she would in the coming years learn was simply analyzing it – and were just things she did almost instinctively, that something was wrong with her schoolmate, Melissa. Missy, as she was known by her classmates, had been absent a lot lately, and when she was there, she was tired, and seemed a bit pale. Greer had had a sad and ugly feeling about the whole thing, ever since the last time Missy had managed to return to class.

Greer didn't believe in ghosts, thanks to Uncle Sherlock's influence, but if she ever saw a ghost herself, she imagined, sadly, that she would look an awful lot like Missy did that day.

"I don't even know how to start," Molly said quietly to Greg. At this, Greg took a breath, letting it out with a shake of his head, his face downturned. "So young… DAMNIT, Greg, how can I look at our beautiful girl and not think how easily this could be her instead, US, instead?"

Greg said nothing for a few moments, choosing instead to hold Molly's hands and let their foreheads rest against each other.

Finally, his eyes still closed, still clutching Molly's hands, his forehead still resting against hers, he said, a bit louder than they'd been speaking, "Little Love, you might as well come in. I'm afraid we've some bad news…"

Greer blinked at this – not so much at the fact that Daddy had known all the time she was there, but at the ominous promise of bad news. Instinctively, Greer knew it was about Melissa.

She watched as her daddy rose his head up, and closed his eyes for a few moments. When he opened them, it was with a sad, reassuring smile to mummy. It would take a few years, but Greer would one day come to recognize that look as saying, "No worries Love, we've got this."

"It's about Missy, isn't it, Daddy? Mummy, what's happened?" she asked in a small voice, looking to both her parents. "It can't be good, oh I just KNOW it can't… she's looked so ill…" Greer said. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she found her voice breaking and her composure cracking.

Molly reached out, pulling her small daughter towards her and Greg. "You're quite right, my darling girl. It IS about Missy. You're a very clever girl, and not much gets past you. Oh, I'm so SO proud of you for that," she said. "Missy HAS been very ill… and she's been absent because she's been in hospital. Her doctors have been trying to get her set to rights again."

"She's been at St. Bart's," Greg said softly, resting his hand on her back, "and mummy has been able to visit her and keep an eye on things, Little Love. So no worries, she's been well looked after."

"Just… not well enough, has she?" Greer asked. She was quiet for several moments as she considered. "I'll never see her again, will I Daddy?" she said, suddenly. "I mean… she's… she's like we thought Toby was that time… but he wasn't… but… Missy actually IS…"

"She is, Little Love," Greg finally said. "Now it's a bit hard to explain, but Missy had cancer. Do you remember when Sergeant Ambrose was ill?" he asked, wondering if his little girl had been too little to remember that far back.

"Oh, YES, daddy, I remember him. Oh he was SO nice, and smart and clever! But suddenly he was gone, and you looked SO sad and… tired. Like you and Mummy looked when we thought Toby had died."

"Well, Greer, it's just like that," Molly said gently. "Missy fought just as hard as Sergeant Ambrose did, but in the end, it wasn't quite enough."

"Are YOU okay?" Greer suddenly asked, a look of deep concern passing over her face. Greg and Molly shared a look with caught breaths.

"We will be, yes, my girl," Molly finally said, with a hesitant smile. "Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but we will be. ALL of us will be okay," she replied.

Later on, when Greer, sad but determined to be strong, had been tucked in by Molly, and sung to by Greg, they had joined each other in the living room, in front of the fireplace.

"WHERE does she get that… resilience? She's just so strong. Certainly stronger than I could ever be," Molly said, as she settled back into the comfort of Greg's arms on the couch.

"Honestly I've no idea, but I suspect it could be a collective influence… I reckon it chiefly comes from Mrs. Hudson, though," Greg said, as he brought his hand up to absently stroke her arm. "Do we know a stronger woman than her, really? I mean, think of the sheer bullshit she put up with before we moved here with the boys," Greg pointed out. "If she could survive Sherlock's earlier years she could bloody well survive anything."

Molly laughed softly at this, grateful for her husband's darker sense of humour, dispensing itself in just the right dosages at just the right times.

"You have a valid point, darling," Molly admitted, with a small relieved giggle. "Several factors tamed that rogue upstairs, but thank God he wasn't completely reined in. Sherlock adds his own influence to the children. A zest for life, don't you think? A sense of adventure, wanting to make the most of every single moment and live it all to the fullest. We could learn lessons from him now, I think."

Greg tightened his embrace briefly. "Hmmmm, yes," he murmured, sleepily. "We absolutely could. Perhaps we already have. From him, and Mrs. Hudson certainly. Compassion and a sense of duty from John, no doubt. I see that in all of them as well. I think perhaps our girl is going to be something of a rock, a shoulder to lean on, for her classmates, yeah?"

Molly sighed at this, wondering in the back of her mind if it was worth disturbing the both of them to arise from the sofa to relocate to their bedroom, before remembering that her hip would hate her in the morning, and Greg's back would be even less forgiving of his folly. "It would surprise me more if she wasn't just that," she admitted. "Oh yes, darling, our Greer is resilient. I think we could take lessons from her as well."

Greg took a bracing breath, before shifting himself, rising from the sofa and taking Molly in his arms from behind as she rose. Gently, he guided them both to their bedroom, knowing they both desperately needed respite and slumber from this long and taxing day. "Indeed, we could," he yawned from behind her.


	121. Smitten

**Smitten**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greer, Molly, Greg, Morrie, introducing Missy_

* * *

Greer sat cross legged in front of the small mound of earth, thinking back on her memories of Toby.

She remembered him just ALWAYS being there. She reflected, and realized she'd never really known life without Toby.

Toby had been there whenever she'd felt dreadfully sick, whenever she'd been happy, whenever she'd been sad, whenever she'd felt playful, whenever she'd felt like simply sitting back with daddy, and a kitty nestled at her side – namely, a soft, silky, purring ginger bundle she'd simply always known to be there.

She knew from the telling of it that Toby had been there long before she had – before even Johnnie and Scott had been there. In fact, Toby had lived at 221 Baker Street third, second being Daddy's old flat with Mummy when her brothers were only babies yet, and before that, Mummy's flat before she'd even fallen in love with Daddy.

Greer knew enough from that that Toby was an old cat, and from care and attention, and loving and dedication, he'd lived well beyond the years normally expected.

Uncle Sherlock had been there to hold her hand, and Scott's, when they'd finally had to say goodbye. For real, this time – not to the cat they'd only THOUGHT was Toby.

Morrie was restless, unsettled. He circled the small mound, meowing, fretting. Uncle John, still holding Johnnie's hand, knelt beside her, saying simply, "Morrie knows. Cats are smarter than we think, Greer. He'll feel a bit lost for a bit, without Toby, but he'll be okay."

Greer thought on all of this, and barely noticed the small calico kitten appear next to her, mewing softly, desperately.

She felt the small, silken head bump against her hand, in an attempt to gain her attention. Absently, Greer returned the caress with her small hand stroking the tiny creature, heedless of who or what it was she was returning affection to.

Morrie appeared to her other side, purring. Bumping her hand, he meowed urgently.

"Oh WHAT is it, Morrie, can't you see I'm…" she trailed off, as the small calico worked her way into her lap. Morrie meowed again, then made his way next to the little visitor, curling up next to her.

"Oh, well isn't this just bloody GREAT," she muttered to the black cat, who now gazed up at her with emerald eyes. "You've brought home a friend, how am I to explain this?"

She took a deep breath, letting it out in a heavy, audible sigh. Greer rolled her eyes as the calico kitten rolled over, surrendering herself to Morrie's mercy. As it happened, the older black cat simply draped a paw over her, still purring. Slowly, he turned his serene gaze up towards Greer, meeting her dark brown eyes with his green.

"Mummy is SO sad yet about Toby, how am I to ask if we can keep… her?" she asked the ebony creature on her lap.

Morrie gave a chirping meow before rising from her lap and seeming to urge her towards the house. He lead on, stopping only long enough to look back towards her, waiting for her to let the small visitor catch up.

"You're not giving me much choice, are you, you little git," Greer huffed. "She IS rather pretty, isn't she… but she's a GIRL. Girls are a pain in the arse to fix, and they're expensive too… I don't know that Mummy and Daddy will agree to her…"

No sooner had Greer argued her way with Morrie - though later, she would admit, she was arguing more with herself than anything else - through the front door when she was confronted by Molly.

Having witnessed the verbal soliloquy in part, Molly was prepared for it. "I see you've a little friend to join us, my girl," she said softly. Greer blushed at this, trying to shrug it off.

"She's been insistent. I've tried not to encourage her Mummy, I promise… but Morrie's been a git. I can't seem to get rid of her, Morrie won't LET me. I'm SO sorry Mummy, I know we don't need another cat."

Molly smiled crookedly at her daughter, whilst snapping a photo to send to Greg.

 _She's followed Greer home. Shall we keep her? ~M_

 _Does Morrie approve? ~G_

 _Morrie adamantly INSISTS. ~ M_

 _Do YOU approve, Love? ~G_

 _She's rather pretty… and very affectionate. We could use a second mouser here. ~M_

 _I take that as a yes, you approve, Molly Girl? ~G_

 _Yes, but our daughter is worried at the expense of having her spayed. ~M_

 _Does Greer approve otherwise? ~G_

 _She won't admit it, but she's smitten with the kitten. ~M_

 _She's only trying to avoid getting her hopes up. Tell her Daddy approves, and she and the boys are to choose a name then. Seems Baker Street has a new cat. ~GL_

Molly reached down, picking up the small kitten. "Greer," she said gently, "you're right. We don't NEED another cat. But sometimes it's nice to have things simply because they make us happy and bring us joy, so whether or not we need her isn't really the question here, is it? The question is… do we WANT another cat?"

Greer furrowed her brows, thinking as she gazed at the small tortoiseshell newcomer. "I miss Toby so, Mummy, and I don't want to replace him… but I think Morrie is lonely without a friend to hunt mice with and curl up in sunbeams with. I think I'd like to keep her then, yes." Molly smiled, noting that Greer still sounded hesitant.

"No worries, sweetheart," Molly said, reassuringly. "Daddy said not to fret about the expense of having her spayed. She's obviously chosen us and approves of us, so I think it's only fair and right that WE approve of HER, don't you think? And of course we're not replacing Toby, we can never replace Toby, but we do have plenty of room in our hearts for this little one too, don't you think?"

Greer nodded as she finally allowed her face to light up with relief. "Oh, mummy, maybe WE don't need her, but I think Morrie does, and she needs US as well... if we're keeping her then, she needs a name," she said, allowing excitement into her voice. "Oh bother… where are Johnnie and Scott? We need to start talking about a name…" she said, as she took off in search of her brothers.

Before the remaining day's hours had passed, Greg and Molly sat cuddling on the couch together, the new family member their children had dubbed "Missy" (short for "Miss Behaving", they explained) curled up on Greg, Molly's hand resting lightly on her silken back. They sat in contented silence, the only sound in the room a raggedy purr, issuing from the tiny, rumbling chest of their newest resident of Baker Street.


	122. A Reputation to Uphold

**_A Reputation to Uphold_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship; Humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Background only_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sherlock, John_

* * *

"Oh," Sherlock huffed, as he picked at imaginary cat hairs on his sleeve, "that DAMNABLE creature. Why Mrs. Hudson allows her the run of this house is beyond me."

Greg shared a raised eyebrow with John, and then a quirked mouth. From there, the two men simply sipped at their cups, each one daring the other to speak first.

"Well," John finally said, wordlessly conceding that he was Sherlock's longest lived best friend, "I DID in fact notice that whilst the mouse activity rose in the interim period between Toby's passing and Missy's arrival… it has since fallen considerably."

"Mice play hellfire and damnation on your samples. I mean, Sally is attentive, and the twins are so as well… but in your advancing age," Greg quipped, unable to help himself, "you're bound to forget to put the odd sample away every now and again."

"You're an idiot. And a bloody stupid sod. And give me a bit of time and I'll think of more to call you, Graham," Sherlock sneered, as he turned to John for support.

Finding none there, Sherlock turned back.

"Alright FINE. GREG. That damnable CAT you've seen fit to bring in to this house is an insufferable creature from HELL, and I DO wish you would control her," Sherlock asserted, With a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, ironically cat-like, he seemed to rest his case.

"And how, pray tell, is Miss Behaving so bloody insufferable?" Greg asked with the casual confidence of one who knew damned well he held all the aces. "Tell me now please because we've three wives, one elderly woman, and approximately seven children," he continued, as John held up a finger.

"Nine, Greg. Don't forget Julian and Gareth," John reminded him.

"Nine children to explain to as to why daddy, alias Uncle Sherlock, feels Missy is such a bad kitten. I further remind you that it was Greer who first brought her in the house to begin with."

Sherlock winced. He'd forgotten that small detail - that it was his beloved little Sherla who had found the calico kitten in the first place – or rather, it was Sherla who had been FOUND by the kitten. Pausing only a moment, he found his enthusiasm for the argument suddenly beginning to wane. "She works her way into my wardrobe. She leaves white hairs all over my trousers. And she leaves black hairs on my shirts. And when she feels she has time, she leaves ginger hairs every bloody where else," Sherlock said, tightly, attempting to regain his momentum. "She's so evil, she's like three bloody cats rolled into one."

John, listening intently and deciding that perhaps a logical approach coupled with a gentle reminder might be appropriate, piped up. "Sherlock. We had a brief influx of mice after Toby died and Morrie seemed not quite himself. I think Morrie was grieving. Then Missy came along and our faithful Lieutenant Consulting Mouser knew relief was approaching and he seemed rejuvenated. Now we have an eager kitten who is learning quickly how to pull her weight…"

"Eager to be a pain in the ass, yes," Sherlock interrupted, with a satisfied smirk.

"Eager to hunt pests and vermin," Greg said, lightly. "And for whatever reason that is absolutely beyond my comprehension…" he started, before Sherlock cut him off in annoyance.

"Only ONE reason is beyond your comprehension?" the consulting detective sneered.

"AS I was saying," Greg responded patiently, with a slight tilting of his head and a sweet smile that didn't quite reach his eyes thanks to its facetious insincerity, "for whatever reason I fail to understand, she has decided that she likes YOU best. Personally, I find that cats can be so aloof and so distant that when one decides to attach themselves to you with affection, it may even be considered somewhat of an honour."

"Clearly she feels they're kindred spirits, yeah Greg?" John remarked. "Aloof. Distant. Arrogant. Annoying. Wholly inconsiderate of anyone else."

"Oh, come ON, John," Sherlock huffed, with a roll of his eyes. "If you're to compare me to that cat, I may have been that way years ago, but things have changed greatly over time. Miss Behaving can't possibly be THAT bad, if she feels kinship to ME."

"Ah, here we go," Greg said to John with amusement, "now the truth comes out. Sir Grumpsalot actually LIKES Missy. He just doesn't want anyone to know it."

"Well Greg," John responded, with a sideways smirk towards Sherlock as he turned to address their Baker Street patriarch, "he DOES have a reputation to uphold, after all."


	123. Greer's Defense

**_Greer's Defense_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Drama_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Greer, Johnnie, Scott_

* * *

Molly not only knew it was a matter of time, but she knew exactly how her husband would approach it.

In the kitchen, preparing dinner as this day it was her turn, she heard Greg arrive through the door, greet their boys with hearty enthusiasm, and speak in friendly tones to Missy and Morrie.

She rinsed her hands under the tap and dried them on a towel as Greg strolled in, arms open and face alight with anticipation of their customary greeting. When they finally broke away from their day-long awaited kiss, he levelled a look at her.

"So, where is our daughter?"

Molly cleared her throat. "In her room. Of her own volition, I shall add. It's a long story, but she had witnesses. You may want to talk to her and the boys both as they can attest to her version. I've spoken to others who were there on the playground and they corroborate what Johnnie and Scott say happened…"

"Ought I to be worried, Love?" Greg simply said to this.

"No, I don't think so… Now I'm not one to condone physical violence but I will say the little shit had it coming."

Greg's eyes widened at this in mild shock, before he cocked his head at his wife and narrowed his eyes inquisitively. "What the hell has happened, Love?" he finally asked, as Molly gave him a small smile and turned back to her meal preparations.

"Best ask our children, I think," she replied simply. "Oh, and Greg," Molly said, as he turned to leave the kitchen, "try not to be alarmed when you see Greer. I assure you she came out the better of the two. And I believe the reason she's hold up in her bedroom is… well I think she's a bit afraid of what you'll think. You know how she dreads the idea of disappointing you in any way."

Greg frowned at this, an expression of deep concern shrouding his features. "Right, then. Thanks Love," he replied.

When he had made his way back to the living room, he motioned for Johnnie and Scott to come to him.

"Boys," Greg said solemnly, "I think we need to have a bit of a chat. Your mother tells me Greer is in her bedroom?"

The young brothers shared a look. Scott sighed deeply. "Yes Daddy. Try not to be mad at her, please? It wasn't her fault, honest it wasn't. In the end she really wasn't given much choice."

"Daddy," Johnnie said, as he followed his dad and his brother to Greer's door, "we saw the whole thing. We were there, and well… I know it's not the RIGHT way to feel, but Scott and I… well we're actually quite proud of her."

Greg took a deep breath while he considered his young sons, looking each of them in the eyes. Neither boy blinked, but simply returned the look of determined serenity. Clearly they felt all would be well for their sister, in the end, and Greg found this to be quite reassuring.

Finally, he knocked on the door. "Greer, I'd like to have a word with you. Might I come in, Little Love?"

Johnnie and Scott glanced to each other with concern when a full minute of silence passed without the door opening. Uncomfortably, they shuffled their feet.

"Greer Sherla, I'd like to speak with you. This isn't optional, Little Love. If you don't open the door, I'm coming in anyway."

Another ten seconds passed before Johnnie and Scott heaved a great breath of relief as slowly, the door opened, and Greg was met with the downturned face of his young daughter. Wordlessly, the twin boys went to flank their sister as Greg crouched down to better meet her level.

"Little Love, what's happened, you don't have to be afraid of how I'll react. It seems you have a great many defenders to speak on your behalf," he said softly. He brought his hand up to lift her chin gently, and his eyebrows shot up to see the blackened eye his daughter was suddenly sporting.

"I got into a fight, Daddy. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it to happen… you know I've a terrible temper but I've always managed to never lose it. Well, HARDLY ever lose it. But this time I was just SO angry…" Greer's voice had never sounded so small and meek, to Greg, and this concerned him a great deal.

"Daddy, I don't think she's going to tell you what happened… I mean REALLY happened," Scott said. "Seems she thinks herself guilty of something horrid, but it wasn't like that at ALL." At this, Greer scowled at her older brother briefly, before her expression returned to one of shame and sadness.

"Right, then… tell me boys, since you seem determined to act as your sister's defense counsel, what actually happened."

"We were in the schoolyard, and Greer was with her friend Faith. Well, you see Faith has trouble sometimes because she has a bit of a stutter. Usually she isn't picked on much because of it because everyone likes her really and they know better than to be so mean, but today there was a boy who decided to make fun of her," Johnnie started.

"He's a right proper bully, Daddy," Scott said. "Everyone knows it. It's about time he got put in his place, I'd say," an angry note forming in his voice. He cleared his throat as he pushed the anger down. "Anyway, he started picking on Faith, and Greer told him to stop. He's older than us, and bigger too. That's why he's such a bully, he knows he can get away with it."

"He wouldn't stop," Johnnie said, insistence beginning to tinge his voice. "Greer told him to again, and that's when he hit her. Greer I mean, not Faith."

"I see. Greer hit him back then, I take it?" Greg asked, his expression softening.

"Yes, Daddy. She hit him hard, good and proper. Only once, mind you. But his nose bled and he actually started to cry. Daddy, he's SO much taller and bigger than even Scott and I," Johnnie said. "But Greer HAD to defend herself, didn't she? He hit her first. She was only trying to protect Faith, and he punched her for it."

"Daddy," Greer finally spoke. "I know sometimes the right thing to do in one way isn't the right thing to do in another way. How do I know then? Hitting is bad, I know that, but… I HAD to let him know he couldn't get away with it anymore."

"Well," Greg said, scratching his head, "I can see why your brothers are so proud of you. Now I wouldn't say I'D go quite that far, but I AM very pleased with you for defending your friend from a bully," he began, as he wrapped an arm around Greer and drew her close to him. "And as for punching him, it seems to me this was a clear case of self-defense. And perhaps this boy will think twice before trying it again." He smiled down at his daughter as he brought his hand to nudge her chin up to look at her in the eyes. "Oh, Little Love, that's quite the shiner you're sporting. Mummy said you came out the better of the two of you. Not sure where you learned to hit like that but I reckon you won't have any more trouble from that young blighter if he looks worse than you do right now."

"You're not angry with me then?" Greer asked, her mouth still downturned in worry. "Hitting is bad, I shouldn't have done it…"

"Yes, Little Love. Hitting is bad. But nobody could reasonably expect you to let yourself be beat up, now could they? Especially when you tried twice to resolve the conflict verbally, which is exactly what you should have done, and you DID do," Greg replied softly. He smiled at his daughter as reassuringly as he could. "You had every right to defend yourself when things went pear shaped, and I'm glad you're not afraid to do so… so NO, of course I'm not angry with you."

Greer drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a rush as she snuggled against Greg's chest. "Thank you Daddy. I feel better now… well except for my eye. Oh, it's awfully sore."

"It'll feel better soon enough," Greg said. "Now, if you've appetite, and I suspect you do, I believe your mother has dinner ready. I don't know about you," he said, grinning warmly at each of his children in turn, "but I'm famished. Come on then," he said, rising to his feet with Greer still in his arms, "let's go eat," he said, ushering them out of Greer's bedroom.


	124. Dads

**_Dads_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greer and Sam; Scott and Naomi friendship_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Greer, Scott and Naomi mentioned, Liam introduced in conversation_

 _ **Author's Note:** Greg's discussion with Sherlock regarding John is in reference to Chapter 39 "The Measure of a Man"_

* * *

"Daddy?" Greer asked thoughtfully.

Greg, curled up on the sofa and with full intentions – until that moment at least – of delving back into the book he'd been relaxing with for the past few days, looked up curiously. He hadn't even heard his daughter enter the flat, let alone come into the room.

"Sam has Beth, I gather, and shooed you out of your flat?" Greg tried not to let his amused wince come through the questioning look he gave his daughter.

"Beth has a bit of a temperature. My husband gave me that annoying gleefully determined look he gets when he's about to fix something."

"Ah," Greg nodded, placing his book, still open, face down on the stand next to the sofa. "His infamous 'hold my beer and watch this' look. Well, he IS an Industrial Arts teacher. Fixing and building things, well, it's sort've what he does, isn't it? And not only that, he's teaching teenagers how to do it. Anyway I know he's delved head first into being a hands-on dad."

Greer half smiled, half sighed at this, heaving herself down next to Greg. Giving him a tired look, she leaned back into her dad's arm, with a heavy sigh of frustration and relief, strangely all rolled into one.

"I AM tired. She's been fussy all day and the temperature only started just before he arrived home. I suppose he reckoned I'd had enough for one day and ushered me out. He had specific instructions that I was to come here and relax with you and mum, with a glass of wine or something. I think Dad," she said, yawning, "I think I fancy a cup of your coffee more than that."

"Hmmm," Greg said, thoughtfully, knowing Greer would sniff out the fresh pot herself that he'd just made, sooner rather than later. "So it seems he knows what you're made of and when you've had enough... even when you don't seem to know yourself? Just remember what HE'S made of too, yeah?"

Greer laughed softly at this. "Well, he DID crack open a beer as I was fetching my coat. You can take the boy out of Saskatchewan, but you can't take Saskatchewan out of the boy, I suppose," she giggled.

Greg chuckled, then pondered a moment. "You realize that little Elizabeth Megan Ciana is going to be just as much of a daddy's girl as YOU are, Little Love? In fact I reckon she already is. If you want one of your own, you may have to try for a mulligan…" he hinted, teasingly.

Greer said nothing to this, merely punching her dad lightly in the shoulder. "Hush now, you old git," she finally said. "We've enough babies around already at the moment. Between Beth, and Aiden, and Riley, there are plenty enough to go around. Not to mention Liam, oh he's a busy little man."

"You had a valid argument up until Liam, Little Love," Greg pointed out. "I can hardly count Liam just yet. Scott and Naomi aren't dating, for as much as they give off the impression that they are, they're not together in that way."

Greer snorted softly, shifting herself off the sofa to retrieve a cup of coffee from the kitchen. "Well they're not YET, at least. Mark my words Dad, one day, whether it's next month, or next year, or the year after that, they will be. There's no question they've bonded very closely and I know they're only friends just yet. Neither of them have ruled that out. They're just not quite ready yet."

Greg thought on this quietly, as he shifted his legs to stretch them out. He winced as his muscles stretched and his knee gave off a cracking pop.

"You sound awfully sure of that, Greer," he called out to her, as something in the back of his recent memories slowly crept to the forefront of his consciousness. Something he'd seen, and casually even observed, but hadn't thought much about for various reasons.

"You've seen it Dad," Greer said, as she returned to the living room, handing her dad a fresh cup of coffee. "You've probably even OBSERVED it, but didn't put much thought to it. And you've filed it away in the back of your mind for future reference, until something dislodged it." She grinned triumphantly at her father's blank look and cocked head, knowing she'd once again hit the nail on the head.

After several moments of facetious silence, Greg finally spoke. "I'd scold you for being an impertinent little brat, but truth is, you're my daughter through and through. YES, I've seen it, and you're correct, I have observed it but didn't think much of it at the time. Perhaps I brushed it off given the circumstances... It's the way they look at each other."

Greer sighed happily, knowing her big brother was on the cusp of happiness again someday, whenever the moment arrived when he was ready to take that step forward. "Yes," she said, as she claimed the spot next to Greg, crossing her legs and facing him. She paused only long enough to sip blissfully from her mug. "They may not be IN love yet," she said, as she held the cup to her face, drinking in the aroma, "but make no mistakes, they do love each other very much, I'd put money on that."

"I haven't seen Scott seem this peaceful since before Meg died," Greg admitted. "It's as though he's slowly finding contentment again. Now that I think about it, it's quite similar to what we observed in your Uncle John when he was first dating Alex. He kept their relationship on the mum for quite some time, but in retrospect, Sherlock and I agreed he'd seemed different somehow. We even discussed it once. Before that he seemed… well, we'd seen him that way since Mary died and we'd just sort've gotten used to it."

"Liam is already showing signs of Scott's influence. They've bonded, Dad. They're a family, in their own casual platonic way. He's fully two years old, and the only father he's likely to remember now will be Scott, I believe," Greer said thoughtfully, as her phone toned.

"Speaking of dads," Greg chuckled softly, as he waited for Greer to check her message. "Let me guess, Beth is settled and sleeping soundly? See, she just needed her daddy," he winked.

"So did I," Greer said, smiling.


	125. Bedtime Stories

**_Bedtime Stories_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Ensemble pairings_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Johnnie, Scott, Greer; Sherlock, Grace, Michael; John, Rosie, Daniel;_ _with mention of Julian and also with special mention of Eurus, who last appeared in Chapter 48 "Affirmation"_

* * *

"So," Sherlock said, checking his watch to make sure he wasn't missing his twins' bedtime ritual.

"Based upon the clues, the balance of probability suggests that your suspect," he said, with a raised eyebrow in Greg's direction, "is not only left handed, but most likely an introvert with mathematical skills and an interest that leans towards aviation and botany."

Greg's eyebrows furrowed, just as he checked his own watch. Cocking his head, he turned to John.

"I've no bloody clue what the hell he's talking about," he admitted, without shame or remorse.

"So… he's a pilot or wants to be one, who can do sums kay-pawed… and prefers to be alone, with his potted houseplants. Brilliant, Sherlock. Absolutely brilliant," John said, supressing a sigh. Later on, he knew, he and Greg would meet up across mugs of chamomile tea and pyjamas, if not this night, then likely the next, to debate just what the hell it was their often frustratingly brilliant housemate was on about.

In the meantime, Sherlock checked his watch again. "WELL then, that's all for now. It seems my children are due for their bedtime story. See you tomorrow," he said, with a flourish and a wide grin.

Greg and John shared a look as they watched their friend depart.

"I hate when he does that. Bloody hated it for years, in fact," John admitted. "I think Rosie and Dan are ready for their bedtime ritual though, as I suspect the boys and Greer are?"

"Hmmmm… yeah," Greg replied, as he waved goodnight to his friend.

"Once upon a time," Sherlock said, as he tucked Grace and Michael in for the night in their room in 221B, "there was a grand, brave Prince, named Sherlock."

At this, Grace, sleepily, asked, "Oh Daddy, you're SO obvious. You're the Prince, aren't you?"

Sherlock simply smiled, with a quick tickle under his daughter's chin. "Now, the Prince would have liked have been the VERY bravest Prince, but alas he was only the very cleverest, and the King, now his name was Gregory…"

"OH, Uncle Greg!" Michael declared, wiggling around under his covers. "Oh I might have known Daddy!|

Sherlock took a breath, then continued. "King Gregory was the smartest, in his own way, for he was a very wise King, and reigned with a practical head and a very kind heart. The very bravest in the land, well his name was Prince John, and he was the most likely to lead the charge to slay dragons, to defend his friends, and family most especially… and these three, the King and the two Princes, you see, were brothers. But as the succession was based upon age, King Gregory was first to ascend the throne. Second after him would be Prince John. Thirdly would be Prince Sherlock, who was sometimes just a bit too clever for his own good, and sometimes got himself into a bit of well-intentioned mischief…" he smiled, as he tucked Michael in.

Downstairs, in 221A, John was telling his own bedtime story.

"King Sherlock was certainly clever, but he still relied very much upon his brothers, Prince Gregory and Prince John," he said, as Rosie gazed upon him and Daniel yawned widely.

"Was there a knight named Julian, Daddy? Was he heroic and brave and handsome?" she asked.

"Well, probably, Little Lamb," John said, reflectively, smiling with the sudden warming in his heart. "But he's not in THIS story. Perhaps in the next one though, with Prince John's beautiful young daughter, Lady Rosamund. They need their OWN story, Rosie, because you see, throughout all the land, every single one the King's subjects, from peasants living in the English countryside, to everyone at court in the castle, knew one thing for very certain, and THAT was that Sir Julian would marry Lady Rosamund someday." John smiled and winked at his daughter with this, as Rosie beamed at the thought. "You see, theirs is a fairy tale all of its very own, my girl."

"Were the King and the Princes married, Daddy?" little Daniel asked, curiously, as he snuggled down deeper into his covers.

"Yes, of course they were, Danny Boy. King Sherlock's Queen's name was…"

"Sally!" Daniel declared excitedly, wiggling under his duvet. "And Prince Gregory's wife, she MUST have been Princess Molly! Am I right, Daddy?"

John chuckled softly at this. "Yes, you are. And Prince John was married to the most beautiful princess in all the land, Princess Alexandra…"

Downstairs, in 221C, Greg similarly tucked in his tired sons, whilst Greer waited patiently for him to sit back in the chair, so she could claim his lap for their own bedtime story.

"Now then, where did we leave off last night…" he asked, as he settled into the chair, gathering up his daughter into his arms.

"King John had just summoned Prince Gregory and Prince Sherlock to court," Scott reminded his dad. "They had many dragons to slay, all of them with funny names. Culverton, Moriarty, Magnussen… there was even a GIRL dragon named Adler, though Prince Sherlock only referred to her as 'The Dragon'. And they were about to receive help from Prince Sherlock's brother, Sir Mycroft. But HE had a secret weapon that he said had blown in mysteriously with the East Wind."

"Sometimes Uncle Sherlock refers to his sister as the East Wind, Daddy," Johnnie said, yawning. "Does he mean Grace and Michael's Auntie Eurus is the East Wind?"

"Well, Sir Mycroft DID have a rather unconventional secret weapon. Indeed, it was Lady Eurus, who was so clever that she had to live far, far away from court, lest she get bored. When Lady Eurus got bored, she could be a bit… unpredictable," Greg conceded.

"Did Prince Sherlock and Sir Mycroft miss their sister, daddy?" Greer asked, glancing at her brothers, and finding it hard to imagine not being able to live with them and grow up with them.

Greg smiled as he thought about this. Finally, he replied, "Yes, I believe they did, very much, each in their own way of course. Prince Sherlock often visited Lady Eurus, at the castle where she lived far far away, because he did miss her quite a lot, and his visits made her a bit less… unpredictable, and more likely to be allowed to spend time at court someday, under Sir Mycroft's watchful eye, of course. She had her own talents," Greg said, with a small reflective smile. "She could make beautiful music with her violin, and Prince Sherlock would often play with her. Sometimes," he said, brushing a kiss upon the foreheads of two sons who were nearly asleep, "they would even allow Prince Gregory to join them in their songs."

And so, the bedtime fairy tales were told, night after night, to seven tired children, by three devoted fathers, who in their own stories, narrated on the fly by them and their sleepy offspring… had many adventures, slayed many dragons, and saved many Princesses.


	126. To Be Continued

**_To Be Continued_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Mild Humour; Mild Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly_

* * *

"I can't believe you stopped THERE," Molly huffed, mildly annoyed. "' _To be continued_ ,' he says. As if he weren't being a complete bastard."

Greg, tired, but fully awake, turned to train a questioning look at his wife. "Molly, Love, the children had all fallen asleep. That was sort've the point of the story, wasn't it?" He sighed, continuing to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh don't give me that look, Gregory Joseph Lestrade. Stopping when you did was just… mean. Maybe the children didn't care because they were asleep, but you had the full undivided attention of a woman wide awake."

Comprehension struck suddenly, and Greg sighed as he smiled and nodded. "Ah. Got it, Love. You realize no chapter is the same twice, yeah? If I tell you what happens next, it may not line up with THEIR chapter tomorrow night, and the following chapters…?"

"Well then," Molly replied with a come-hither tone. "What will it take for you to tell me what happens next, then, my gorgeous Prince Gregory?"

Greg thought on this carefully. This was not an opportunity to squander, not at all.

Molly loved to cook nearly as much as he did, so requesting a special dish would be pointless, because all of his favourites were regular mainstays on their weekly family menu.

A full therapeutic body massage would be nice after a long day with tired muscles and aching shoulders, but Greg already had a standing booking every fortnight with a massage therapist, so that, also, would be moot. Besides, he knew, Molly was at times just as in need of something like that after a long day in the mortuary.

Pointless also, would be any sort of favours in the bedroom. Molly was always just as enthusiastic as he was, so this, unbelievably, would also waste the opportunity.

"Well… he murmured, completely devoid of any inspiration at the moment, "what's it worth to you?" He grinned at her, drawing her close enough to him to kiss.

Molly thought about this carefully as she traced his collarbone with her fingers. Special dishes… pointless. A good old fashioned massage… well he already had a professional therapist to work out the knots in his musculature. EXTRA special marital things… also moot – not that that wouldn't be plenty of fun, mind.

"I've no idea, darling. Seriously, I've got nothing…" Molly finally admitted, sadly.

Greg suddenly grinned, an idea having just struck him. "Well then… I've a proposal… in order to keep the story's continuity straight… perhaps… if you feel up to it… you might join me tomorrow night in the telling of the next chapter… well the childrens' next chapter that is. Greer loves a story from me but I know Scott would be absolutely THRILLED to have his Mum join in, and Johnnie is happy with either of us, so he'll be doubly delighted. What's say then, sweetheart?"

"I think I say… that's Princess Molly, to you, my dashing silver Prince," she replied, eyes and face both alight with anticipation. "Now, that said, I believe it's OUR bedtime. I know you've gotten yourself ready to the point of just crawling under the covers with me, as have I. So shall we let the story continue?" she asked, as she took his hand with an excited squeeze and led him to their bedroom.

Greg grinned at her as she turned back the covers. As they settled in, she rolled over into his arms and said, "Okay, now where were we again…?"

Greg thought a moment on that, then said, "Ah, yes. Lord Mycroft arrived, none too soon either, at the castle gates with Lady Eurus on his arm, and two shiny armored knights flanking him - just to be doubly sure of course, that Lady Eurus wouldn't try anything silly - for you see, Princess Sally had requested her help, as she was especially concerned that The Dragon Adler, alias simply The Dragon, kept requesting to have Prince Sherlock for dinner… No sooner had they been let through the castle gates, when suddenly, there appeared…"

"Darling," Molly asked softly, her fingers absently tracing the design on the front of the t-shirt Greg slept in, "Why, if Lord Mycroft is Prince Sherlock's brother… is he only a Lord, and not a Prince as well?"

"Well, Lord Mycroft preferred to be more… hands on. He felt his cleverness would be wasted at court, you see, he felt the more high the ranking title, the less powerful he would ACTUALLY be. After all, SOMEONE had to advise the King, and Lord Mycroft felt he could rule in his own way, like that… And you know, Greer and the boys never interrupt with silly questions, Molly Girl," Greg replied with a soft chuckle. "You need to be more patient, Love."

"Oh never mind about patience, husband. Just tell the bloody story," she said, with a small huff. "And why was Mycroft a Sir earlier tonight, and now he's a Lord…"

"He was promoted," Greg said tersely, "and I'm TRYING to tell the bloody story… anyway, as I was saying, suddenly, there appeared…" as Molly relaxed again, determined to just lie back with Greg and enjoy the story.

And so, the next chapter was told, to an impatient wife and mother, by a patient husband and father, and the adventures at court would continue on for another night...


	127. Once Upon a Time Will Tell

**_Once Upon a Time Will Tell_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Molly and Greg, John and Alex, Sherlock and Sally,_ _background only_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, John, Sherlock_

* * *

"My God, you look knackered, Mate," Greg declared, as Sherlock joined him at the kitchen table in 221C.

"You don't look so spry yourself, Gavin," Sherlock retorted, through a yawn. Meeting the sardonic gaze of his Yarder friend, he shrugged and grinned warmly. "Tell me Gregory, whose idea exactly was it to start this whole bedtime fairy tale ritual with our children?"

"I believe it was John's, actually, if we're honest. Why, Sherlock? Has something gone pear shaped with your tales?"

"Well," the younger man admitted, as he yawned again and poured himself a cup of tea. "Not with my tales, exactly. Sally has taken to listening in. Last night she cornered me after Michael and Grace fell asleep and wouldn't let me use the loo until I agreed to tell her what was to happen next. Bloody woman knew damned well I'd had a cup of tea beforehand and a large glass of water as I told the night's tale to our twins. It was nothing short of mean spiritedness on her part."

Greg snorted at this, before clearing his throat. "So, how did you manage that, then? Tell her what happened next and only hope you might maintain continuity for tonight?"

"I bargained for certain… favours… she thinks I was putty in her hands after that. And all I did was make her promise more clearance to access case files at the Yard."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, you DO realize she's not authorized to do that, yeah? Mate, you were swindled."

John strolled through the door just as a low chuckle emanated from Sherlock's chest. "Oh, probably… I've never felt it quite necessary to reveal to her just how much I really CAN be putty in her hands... though I have to admit, telling her more of the story as she lay in my arms under our blankets was rather… inspiring. And she's to join us this evening, to help me to tell the next chapter. For the sake of continuity, of course… OH, John, good morning… my God man, you look as though you've been rode hard and put away wet…"

"Alex," John began, as he put forth a huge yawn. Greg and Sherlock shared a look.

"Alex listened in last night on your latest chapter," Greg began, with an amused, knowing look to Sherlock.

"She coerced you into telling her what was to happen next…" Sherlock continued, winking at the DI.

John rolled his eyes as he poured himself a cup of tea and helped himself to one of the scones Molly had left on the counter for them. "How the hell did the two of you know that?"

"I may have caved too easily to Molly… but I have to admit, I was a bit curious myself what was to happen next…" Greg admitted with a shrug, as he rose from his spot at his table to grab the plate of scones. Sherlock placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze, as he rose himself, to retrieve jam and marmalade from the refrigerator for them. "Molly had some brilliant ideas. I'm going to enjoy tonight's chapter. I know our children will, with their Mum joining in."

"Having Sally's ideas and feedback was rather helpful, I admit," Sherlock said, as he reached into the cutlery drawer. "She suggested plot twists that had never occurred to me either. I suppose I'm more comfortable dealing in facts rather than fiction… I lack imagination in many ways in that regard… so I do believe Michael and Grace are in for a treat tonight when their mother joins us."

"And you as well, I reckon," John simply said. "I might as well admit the same for myself. Alex is inspired… but she seems to like the idea of branching off into Rosie and Julian's fairy tale now and then too, a sub-plot of sorts… I suppose, they do really have one, of sorts. A childhood one, at least."

Greg nodded at this. "Let me guess… Julian is a brave, handsome knight in shining armor, and Rosamund is a true Lady… but she's no bloody damsel in distress, I reckon! Sounds like the Rosie and Julian we know and love."

"So, where are you at with yours?" Sherlock asked, turning to Greg. Greg cleared his throat and grinned sheepishly.

"Lady Eurus is about to outsmart The Dragon. Also known as Dragon Adler. She keeps insisting that she wants to have Prince Sherlock for dinner, so Princess Sally has called in the big guns."

"Ah…" John said. "So, I assume you don't mean OVER for dinner?"

"Well, she IS a dragon, John," Sherlock said, matter of factly. _"Meddle ye not in the affairs of dragons, for thou art crunchy and taste good with mustard,"_ he paraphrased with a silly grin. "So what about yours, then?"

John grinned at this. "King Sherlock is about to solve The Case of the Crying Court Jester. Prince Gregory will next be investigating The Adventure of The Mute Town Crier."

"He must be a rather bored monarch, if he's time to solve cases?" Greg asked, curiously.

"That's why he's got his advisor… everyone knows the advisors are the ones who REALLY call the shots. This one refers to himself as The British Monarchy. Anyway the last time the King got bored, he began to fire the cannons through the fortress walls surrounding the castle. Set the Queen and her adoptive mother-in-law into a right tizzy, that did… so they're rather accommodating now," John explained, in between bites of scone.

Sherlock snorted into his tea cup with this. "Well, Sally's got digressions in mind, very intriguing ones too, but at the moment the groundwork is still being laid… I'm sure King Gregory will soon have something for his brothers to do though. He seems to make it a priority to avoid allowing the cleverer one of them becoming bored, for some reason. The other seems to make it a priority to keep him reined in WHEN he becomes bored. Ah… those two… Prince Sherlock is rather lucky they've the patience of a Saint with him… but last night, I began the telling of a mysterious presence in the woods just past the castle gates. Even the dragons wish to steer clear of it…"

"Sounds like a fascinating story, though I do hope whatever that mysterious presence is isn't nearly as traumatic in its telling as that hallucinogenic hound from hell was by Dartmoor years ago," Greg quipped, with a smirk.

"I'm sure Sally will ensure it's strictly a G rating, Greg. But, any road, I need to get myself ready to leave for the surgery. Alex promised me it was to be an interesting day, to say the least," John said, rising from his chair. "Same time, same place tomorrow morning, Gentlemen," he said with a smile and a nod, as he departed the flat.

"Yes, I suppose I should go make myself decent as well," Sherlock mused, as he rose from his chair as well. Greg nodded, standing up and taking plates to the sink.

"Sally tells me you're to meet us later this afternoon on the Tupper case?" Greg asked, as Sherlock handed him empty mugs.

"Yes, I've a few things to look into first, and a visit to Molly at St. Bart's to conduct some testing, but I should be there around mid-afternoon," Sherlock replied, smiling as he headed towards the door.

"Right then, see you in a few hours, hey?" Greg said, with a small wave, wondering, whimsically, what sort of inspirations the day would bring towards their bedtime stories. He supposed, time – or rather, ONCE UPON a time – would soon enough tell their tales.


	128. For the Moment

**_For the Moment_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Friendship; Family; pre-Romance; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Scott and Naomi_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Scott, Naomi, Liam_

* * *

"I'm so sorry to drag you over here so late, he's just being so cranky right now," Naomi said, as she opened the door of her small flat to let Scott in. "I would have hoped by now he'd have grown out of it, but he just won't settle down, whatever is wrong he is inconsolable, and it just doesn't seem to matter WHAT I do."

"Terrible twos, I reckon," Scott said with a soft laugh, smiling warmly at Naomi. "No worries, you know I was JUST thinking how much I've missed you and Liam all day and would LOVE to see you both after shift…" He looked down at her with a crooked smile and winked as they made their way to the toddler's room.

"Alright, Mr. Jenkins. What's the fuss about, hey?" he said, as he reached down to pick the crying youngster up. Naomi stood back in relief as her young son began to settle somewhat in her best friend's arms – or at least turn his volume down a smitch.

Scott turned to gaze at Naomi for a moment before shifting his attention back to the toddler in his embrace, who, by now, had wrapped his little arms around Scott's neck, as though his life depended on it. The two adults stood silently as the sniffles slowly but surely subsided, and the little boy seemed finally to relax from head to toe.

"So tell me, little laddie, what's wrong? Why so upset, hey?" Scott asked gently, as he reached up to brush away tears from the flushed little cheek. Liam lifted his head to gaze up into Scott's warm brown eyes.

"I missed you, daddy," was all he said, before he lay his head back down on Scott's chest. Try as he might, Scott couldn't stop his eyebrows from shooting up his forehead at this simple, innocent, child's declaration.

"Oh, my," Naomi murmured softly, as she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and softly, and wondering where on earth her young boy had picked up that notion.

"Well, THAT was a bit unexpected," Scott simply said, glancing to her. Naomi sighed at this, and took his arm, leading him to the living room of her flat.

"Oh, Scottie… let's be honest here," she implored, as they sat down on her loveseat. "Is it REALLY that unexpected? We've been this little platonic family for months now… even Greer has commented that at this rate, you're the only father Liam is likely to ever know or remember. I have to admit, the idea of raising him with you is… well it's quite comforting actually. There's a contentment there."

Scott said nothing to this at first, simply thinking on Naomi's words as he absently stroked under Liam's ear with his thumb. "I suppose you're right," he finally said, his voice soft and low. "I guess I hadn't really thought about it… I knew this could happen someday, really. I hoped it would, in fact… I suppose I just wasn't expecting it so… well, I suppose it HAS been nearly a year since the accident."

"Time flies when your heart is healing, it seems," Naomi said, thoughtfully, as she reached over to rest her hand on her son's back. "There is no timeline on grief, Scottie. There are no rules stating how long we must grieve and be lonely and miserable and heartbroken. Some people grieve for months, others for years, some never really stop… but for me, I think the distraction of Liam, and meeting you at a time when we both needed it most, well... oh, I don't know," she finally sighed. "I don't know WHAT to think."

"I think," Scott said carefully, reaching over Liam to take the hand that rested on his back, "that at some point, because we understand each other so well, we became such close friends that we began to love each other, I mean REALLY love each other, though I don't think we were IN love. Now I have to question if that's been… evolving somewhat."

Naomi sighed at this. "I've been wondering the same thing, if I'm honest about it. We've certainly been the definition of 'slow burn' if that's the case, I'm just not sure we're quite ready yet to take that next step. And really, Scottie… I'm in no hurry, if you aren't."

Scott laughed softly at this in agreement. "Indeed, I'm in no hurry either. Things seem to have taken on their own momentum. When we are both ready, it will happen. That seems a course that cannot be strayed from, nor do I wish it to. I can't even begin to imagine not having you and Liam in my life now."

"Life seems to have taught us to not waste time, to not avoid happiness, or put it off. But I don't think we're doing that, do you?" Naomi asked, suddenly sounding worried. She leaned forward to accommodate him as Scott moved his free arm to wrap it around her shoulders and draw her closer to him.

"No, we're not putting anything off, and we're certainly not avoiding happiness. We're just taking our time, making sure it's the right thing. Besides, it's not just US we've to think of, it's this little man right here most of all. We need to be sure, for his sake, that whatever decisions we make are in all of our best interests. All three of us."

Naomi huffed a small laugh through her nose, smiling. "There's that infamous Lestrade wisdom again. You and Johnnie are incorrigible with it," she giggled. "Oh, I DO love you Scottie, whatever that means for the moment."

"Indeed," he replied, placing a friendly kiss on her cheek, and lingering there just a big longer than he had before. "Whatever it means for the moment, Naomi... I love you too."


	129. Sleeping on Laurels

**_Sleeping on Laurels_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship; Humour_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg, Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly_

* * *

221C was quiet and dark by the time Greg arrived home. He wasn't surprised to find the only signs of life winding her way around his ankles in greeting, soft mews welcoming him back. He smiled briefly at the half grown calico kitten and reached down to pick her up, scratching her behind her ears. After several moments of pampering, a hearty purring in grateful return, he set Missy down, and she departed to curl up with Morrie for the remainder of her nocturnal nap time.

Glad for the greeting – pet therapy was a proven benefit, after all, and Missy was turning out to be a shamelessly attentive and affectionate cat – Greg nonetheless brought his hand up to rub the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. Definitely time for sleep, he thought.

He padded as quietly as he could into his and Molly's bedroom, expecting her to be fast asleep. Instead, however, he found her quite awake in the otherwise unlit room, propped up by pillows and engrossed in an eBook on her tablet. He smiled at the way the device lit up her face in a soft glow.

She looked up as she heard him come in. "Oh, darling, you're back," she said, as she set the tablet down and reached over to switch on the small lamp on her night stand. How was your day? I haven't heard from you since late this afternoon, so I wondered if everything was alright."

"Oh," Greg said, as he exhaled a deep breath. "It was… challenging. We've a case even Sherlock and John are scratching their heads over. Either Sherlock is losing his touch, or he's finally encountered something that is beyond even HIS powers of deduction and detection."

Molly smirked at this, as she watched her husband change into his sleep pants and the t-shirt he liked to sleep in. "I find it quite hard to believe that Sherlock is stumped in any way, shape, or form," she finally remarked, as Greg retreated into the bathroom to brush his teeth and finish getting himself ready for bed.

"Well believe it, Love, it's apparently happened… though I suspect the condition is a temporary one at best. He'll not be had by a case, mark my words. It may simply take him an extra day to figure it out."

"Does your team have any theories?" Molly asked him, her eyes following him as he made his way towards the bed. "I mean really, Sally and Kieran are brilliant detectives in their own right. As are you, if we're to be honest. You didn't achieve the rank of Detective Inspector by being an incompetent dolt."

Greg chuckled softly at this assessment. There were days when he did wonder about that… but then there were days when he knew without question that he had earned his rank by hard work, wise and skilled use of the evidence, and dogged diligence. This, however, was not necessarily one of those days.

"We've plenty of theories, Love. Just none of them are on the right track." Greg heaved a heavy sigh as he crawled under the covers, rolling himself onto his side. Propping himself up on a raised elbow, he rested his head on his raised palm, and gazed upon his wife, bringing his free hand up to tuck a stray lock of chestnut hair back behind her ear. "I'm hoping a good night's sleep in the right company will make for a good and proper reboot of the thought processes. Sometimes we need to just step back for a bit and let the cobwebs clear."

"Recharge, clear the slate of cluttered markings, that sort of thing," Molly smiled, her eyes bright in the dimly lit room. "Agreed, darling. Now, I've had a long day of it myself, but I confess I wasn't able to fall asleep until you were home. I'm not sure why, exactly. It isn't usually a problem…"

"I've no more idea on that than I do on today's enigma, Molly Girl," Greg responded, as he slid himself down, resting his head on the pillow. But," he said, "I'm home now, so perhaps we can both get some sleep." Molly smiled in the near dark as he drew her towards him, wrapping his free arm around her.

Greg and Molly were both sound asleep, engaged in much needed slumber, when Greg's phone pinged with Sherlock's custom text tone.

"Oh, that bastard," Molly mumbled in a haze, as Greg also stirred.

"I'll bet he's solved the bloody thing," Greg said, his voice an exhausted growl. "Well let the annoying sod sleep on his laurels, ignoring him will drive him NUTS."


	130. Happily Ever After

**Happily Ever After**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Scott, John, Greer_

* * *

"Who should start?" Scott asked, with a heavy sigh.

"Greer should, she's daddy's favourite," John said, twisting his mouth sideways in careful thought. He carefully avoided the glare his baby sister fired at him.

"Bollocks," she said fiercely. "Daddy loves ALL of us equally. I'm his little girl, is all. I'll always be special to him for that reason, but he loves you both just as much. Every daddy is SO proud of his sons, if he has them, and he has TWO, so he's TWICE as proud. Now if you want to talk favourites, Scott is Mummy's…"

"Oh, that's just STUPID," Scott protested. "How could she love me more than the two of you? She DOESN'T, that's how. Don't be silly, Greer. I'm mummy's little boy but so is Johnnie, even though we're not that little anymore…"

"Well we HAVE to decide. We can't let them fall asleep MAD at each other, can we?" John said, with a frustrated wave of his hand. "So we have to think on the fly, like Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John do all the time. Can we at least agree that neither Mummy nor Daddy have favourites amongst us, and just get on with our plan?"

"Aye, Sir!" Greer stated seriously, with a salute, before bursting into giggles. Her brothers merely smiled at her, shaking their heads.

"Oh, what would we do without you, Greer," Scott smiled, rolling his eyes in amusement.

"Right, then," John said, as he gathered his siblings closer.

* * *

Greg and Molly, laying back in tense silence, both heard the soft knock on their bedroom door.

Greg, thinking perhaps Greer needed something, and Molly, wondering if one of the boys did, glanced at each other silently. Molly, about to summon them in, clamped her mouth shut in a tight line as Greg beat her to the invitation.

When the door opened, they were both surprised to see all three of their progeny waltz through the door.

"They've got that look," Greg muttered softly, shifting under the covers. He glanced to Molly, who frowned at him in mild annoyance.

"They do, don't they, then," she said. "Why do I have the feeling we're about to be tuned in, Darling?"

Greg, mildly surprised to hear his wife call him Darling after their heated argument, smiled inwardly, though outwardly maintained the stoic expression he'd held all evening.

"Because we ARE, Love," he said, simply. "Look, Molly," he whispered softly, leaning towards her. "I may have been a bit… hasty in my argument. I'm clever enough to suffice most days, but today I reckon I've been a bloody thick bastard."

"Oh, I wouldn't go THAT far," Molly said, leaning towards him with a whisper of her own. "I may have jumped the gun and not entirely listened to reason… It's been a long day. I'm sorry if I brought my frustrations home and took them out on you…"

"Well I deserved them," Greg maintained, as he glanced at the waiting faces of their children. "I shouldn't be so bloody insensitive…"

"May we come in?" Greer asked, sweetly. She glanced first at Molly, then to Greg.

"We've a story to tell you," Scott said. "A bedtime story, like you and Mummy tell us every night," he said, gazing at Greg.

"We're in for it now," Molly said, giving Greg a sideways glance. "I'm all in if you are?"

"Bring it on, Love," Greg whispered in reply, as he opened up his arms with a pointed look at each of their children in turn.

"Come then," he said out loud, as he opened his arms in welcome, noting that Molly did the same next to him.

"So, what fantastical tale have you to tell us, my darling boys?" Molly asked, as she drew Scott into her arms, then scootched just a bit closer to Greg, so they may both snuggle up equally with Johnnie.

"It's a tale of a King and a Queen in a land far, far away," Greer said, as she settled into Greg's embrace. "Of course, they had three MARVELOUS children. Two boys, the most HANDSOME in the land as they looked just like their daddy… I mean, just like the king, and their sister…"

"Who was the very FAIREST in the land, next to the queen, of course," Johnnie said, snuggling contentedly down into the embrace of not one, but BOTH of his parents. "For Princess Greer had the King's eyes, but otherwise looked JUST like the Queen, who was so beautiful, even the King bowed before her when she'd walk into the room…"

"Of course," Scott continued, "the Queen LOVED the King so VERY much, she was the envy of all of her ladies in waiting, and all of the Ladies, and Duchesses, and such, for the King was renowned throughout the land for being… well, quite dishy," he said, suddenly forgetting their planned phrasing, and resorting to what he'd heard Mummy call Daddy more times than he could remember.

At this, Greg blushed fiercely with a sheepish grin, while Molly looked at him and burst into giggles.

"She sounds like a very… OBSERVANT Queen," Molly finally said. She took a deep breath to compose herself, before clearing her throat softly.

"Oh, she WAS," Greer said, insistently. "She was the smartest Queen the land had ever known. Now one day, as the legend has it,' she said, gazing up at Greg, then over to Molly, "The King and the Queen had a bit of a row…"

"Oh, NO," Molly declared dramatically. "It wasn't SERIOUS, I hope? It sounds as though the King and the Queen love each other very, very much, are best friends, in fact…"

"Well, it was enough to make the servants and her ladies in waiting… and all of the other staff at court avoid them carefully…" Scott added, innocently.

"Oh, well then, sounds like it WAS a rather serious row then," Greg said seriously, as he glanced to Molly, the amusement in his eyes impossible to hide from neither her, nor all three of their children. "Tell me son, did they make up?"

John frowned at this, not expecting the story to turn so quickly to resolution. "Yes… actually they did make up. You see, the Queen admitted she may have been a bit hasty, whilst the King confessed he may have been a bit impatient and such… it was all a HUGE misunderstanding, you see… the Queen had had a terrible day of it as two of her ladies in waiting had decided to leave court… with some of her wardrobe and jewels, no less! And the King, well his advisors had been acting upon bad information, but the King knew their advice was rather… dodgy, at best…"

"There's nothing worse than dodgy information, is there?" Molly said with a tiny smile and sparkling eyes, training her look towards her husband.

"It can throw a day round the twist, for sure," Greg replied, as he grinned back. Greer and the boys averted their eyes as he leaned towards her, sneaking a kiss to her cheek and whispering softly, "Are we good, Molly Girl? Or do I need to apologize further for being such a bloody asshole?"

Greer, more tuned in to their dad than her brothers, distracted them a moment more, while Molly responded simply, "I was about to ask the very same thing, my Silver Fox, so I suppose we're… rather set to rights?"

"Indeed," Greg answered, as he took a deep breath, letting it out as Greer allowed her brothers back in.

"When the King and the Queen had REALLY talked about it, and realized they were both wrong, and both right, all at the same time…" Greer said, snuggling back into Greg's arms, and reaching out to take Molly's hand in her smaller one, "all was made better again, because they knew that they were grownups, and sometimes grownups take things just a bit too seriously…"

Greer ignored the stern look she received from her brothers, responding only with a single raised eyebrow and a half smile – one they would learn over the years to heed as their baby sister imparting her infallible sense of wisdom – and smiled sweetly.

"And when the two princes and the princess confronted the King and the Queen, they found that…" Scott started, before Molly gave him a silencing squeeze.

"They found that their parents had kissed and made up, and no row in the world could possibly make them love each other any less than they did… in fact finding a way to understand each other only made them love each other that much more," Molly said feeling herself a bit of a fool, but realizing Greg felt himself just as much of a fool as she did, as well.

"And they all lived happily ever after," Greg said. "Now, do the princes or the princess require the King or Queen to tuck them into their own beds tonight?

"Oh NO, Daddy, Johnnie said, as he extricated himself from his parents' embrace. "They're quite fine to find their way. In fact, Princess Greer tends to lead the charge… her brothers follow, because they know she will never lead them wrong…"

"Funny," Greer said, as she slid to the floor, "Princess Greer looks to Prince John and Prince Scott for guidance… imagine that…" she giggled.

"We'll see you in the morning, be up bright and early for school," Greg said, knowing Molly would be on shift earlier than him the next day. "The King and Queen's orders," he added with a grin.

"Happily ever after, the end?" Greer asked, turning to Greg one final time.

"Yes, Little Love," Greg said. "The End."


	131. Back Into Bliss

**_Back Into Bliss_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Romance, Family; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Scott and Naomi_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Scott, Naomi, Greer and Johnnie mentioned_

* * *

Naomi closed her eyes, shutting back tears. Of regret? She wondered. No… no, not regret. Relief? Well, maybe, maybe not… it was hard to tell, really. The realization that there was such thing as this kind of happiness without guilt?

That just may be it, she realized, as she finally opened her eyes to gaze at Scott.

Scott himself was quiet as he held her closely, but not tightly. Naomi studied him, watching, observing. Without uttering a word, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, feeling the muscles tense at her touch.

"Are you okay?" she inquired, her cheek resting against his bangs, and at her words, she felt his tension relax again.

"I think… yes. Yes, I'm okay." He opened his eyes to meet hers. "More than okay, in fact." He brought his hand up to brush his fingers against her short pixie cut. "I was just thinking… oh Naomi, don't be hurt, please… that's not my intention, especially not on this day of all days. I was just thinking…" he trailed off.

"About Meg. Of course you were, you ridiculous beautiful man. She's your heart," Naomi said softly, with understanding that brought tears to Scott's dark brown eyes.

He shifted slightly, taking a bracing breath. What he was about to say was something he'd thought about saying for a while now… but the moment to actually verbalize it had seemed so far away. He blinked as he realized that time had suddenly, without warning or fanfare, arrived – several hours ago, in fact.

"She WAS my heart. Well… no… she still is, in her way. But she's cherished past. I'll never forget her, Naomi, she's what drew me to you. You're my heart now. You and Liam."

Naomi shifted only slightly under the covers they'd tangled themselves into. At the time it seemed a random shift of impulse and emotion and desire… culminating in something even more impulsive… but now, it seemed, as she thought about it, and processed it, that it had been more than that. They couldn't do what they'd just done on a moment's notice.

That would take a bit of pre-meditation, and more than a few days of not changing their minds, or snapping the hell out of it. And not only that, but bringing others into the loop, as well.

"And Kevin?" he suddenly asked, brushing his hand to her temple. He's your heart, your husband, Liam's dad…"

Another silence, only momentary. Naomi cleared her throat softly. "Kevin died before he could be the dad Liam would remember. Oh, he loved us… so, so much, Scottie. He'll always be a part of me. But he'll never really be a part of Liam. Not the way you are. You're his daddy now. For better or for worse…"

"For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…" Scott murmured as he smiled against her skin.

"For as long as we both shall live," Naomi finished. "Past, present, future… I wonder what your parents will say when they find out," she giggled softly, as if in the sweetest conspiracy. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you remember our vows so well… I wonder if Josie has coaxed anything out of John by now."

"I doubt it… and Greer is just as stubborn… Yarders have a habit of following confidentiality regulations. Sam hasn't a clue, I'd bloody guarantee it," Scott said with a grin.

Naomi, a Yarder herself, laughed in agreement. "I think Meg and Kevin would be happy… relieved even. Neither of them would want us to grow old alone. Kevin even said he wanted me to find someone someday, to be to Liam what he knew he'd never have the chance to be."

"I find myself agreeing, beautiful wife," Scott murmured against her ear, as he moved closer, his passion suddenly finding renewed energy. Naomi moved against him, bringing her arms up to hold him in return, in perfect synchronicity.

"Tomorrow is going to be very, very interesting, husband," she said with mild amusement. "The Nook, yes? Oh, two who are in the know, and two who aren't… I think we'd better ensure they're on their second round before we break the news!"

"Mmmmmm… you are ever so wise, you'll fit right in with the Lestrades," Scott managed, before they fell back into bliss.


	132. In-Laws and Out-Laws

**In-Laws and Out-Laws**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Humour; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Scott and Naomi, Johnnie and Josie, Greer and Sam_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Scott, Naomi, Johnnie, Josie, Sam_

* * *

"So," Greer mused, from her spot in The Nook, with a knowing glance to Johnnie. "At what point do you suppose they… advanced?" Greer knew that Scott and Naomi had planned to join them, so the Lestrade siblings decided to set the stage a bit for their spouses.

Sam nearly choked into his imported beer. He was more than grateful that the pub had managed to start importing his favourite Canadian brew from his days past in Saskatchewan – something he knew he had his sister-in-law to thank for. Josie, through hard work, dedication, and loyalty, had managed to earn a promotion to assistant manager at The Weathered Oak. As such, her paycheque was larger and her hours a bit more flexible – though she still preferred to be on the floor, serving her customers with genuine delight – always there to fill in if a waitress called in sick. Josie Lestrade was, to say the least, a very contented woman of late.

"Oh, honey," Sam said, with a roll of his eyes. "They advanced, as you call it, quite some time ago. They only just now acknowledged it to each other. These things take time. Even they knew that. The REAL question is, at what point do they get around to telling us about these latest developments?"

John shared a look with his sister, which she responded to wordlessly. Taking a moment to force back a smile, Greer responded with the deadpan tone she had learned well over the years from her Dad, and both of her Uncles. "Well, they've never been in much of a hurry. I reckon they'll tell us when they bloody well get around to it…"

John felt his mouth twitch into a smile, finally deciding he wouldn't be letting any cats out of the bag with it to just play along and follow his sister's cues. "I absolutely agree there, Greer. Our brother and Naomi have known for AGES that they loved each other. But now… I think… something about them has evolved… their next logical stage is here, they don't need to tell us THAT. And thank GOD for that! I was going MAD with their slow burn. I'm sure Scott knew that too, the cheeky bastard! That damned sixth sense that twins often have… it's a pain in the ass at times…"

"Going mad? WHY, really?" Greer asked, as she sipped her scotch. "Scott has always dealt with relationships on his own terms and in his own time. And his losses…" Greer trailed off, her voice catching only for a moment from residual grief, but still, held fast by a very recent remembrance of a very happy event.

"Things happen the way they do, and WHEN they do, for a reason, darling," Josie pointed out. She sat next to him, swirling her wine casually. "Oh John… you KNOW that as well."

"Well of COURSE I know that," he huffed softly. "What I meant was, I feel what Scott feels. Joy and pain both… believe me, he feels far more joy these days. Naomi has been a godsend… and Liam too. Trust me. Jose," he said, looking his wife in the eyes, "not everyone has what we have, and Scottie missed out, but only for a time thank God, and we all miss Meg. Oh… she was so beautiful," he sighed regretfully, "in every way… but she was not his forever. Naomi IS his forever… I FEEL that. I suppose I'm relieved more than anything. I've always felt… UNSETTLED when Scott is. As I know he's felt the same way when I am."

Sam smiled reflectively, as he stared into his pint. Next to him, the youngest of the Lestrade siblings simply shifted, considering the points that had been made. In the end, she turned her gaze to her husband, with a small crooked smile, appreciating his wisdom and with and a tiny shake of her head, wondering when the happy couple were going to grace them with their presence. Sam took it for its worth, and simply met her dark brown eyes with his, reminding Greer Sherla that she, too, was a very contented woman of late.

The group fell to a brief silence, before Greer noticed her absent brother approaching with Naomi. Sam nudged her with a subtle grin and a squeeze to her waist. "No sweetheart," he warned. "Rein it in my girl, this is THEIR moment…"

John winced as he felt a warning grip upon his arm… one he had long since learned to heed, when Josephine was telling him to shut the hell up. Turning momentarily to his wife, he was met only with a knowing smile, serene as a Sunday stroll.

Scott cleared his throat softly, before taking a deep breath. In return, he was met with joyous expressions from his baby sister and his twin. Seeing this, he sighed deeply, rolling his dark brown eyes dramatically.

"So, we're nicked, are we?" Naomi said, with a bright smile. "Never could put anything past a Lestrade," she confessed. "Takes a copper to recognize that, doesn't it," she said, with a pointed look to Greer.

"And a paramedic, whose job it is to pay careful attention to any and all details… lives may depend upon it," John pointed out, with a crooked grin to his twin.

"Try teaching teenagers effectively without paying any heed to what they're up to," Sam said lightly. "It can't be done, it's impossible. You've been nicked, alright. Not much gets past a high school teacher, either. If it did, I'd have been chewed up and spat out quite some time ago."

"Copper indeed," Greer snickered. "Takes a copper to know herself when she's been nicked, Constable. You're an astute one I'd say. You'll make a fine Detective one day, should you choose it."

"I'd say she'll make an even finer Lestrade one day," John said casually, taking a pull from his glass. "A ready-made nephew as well. What say, Sister? Liam seems to fit in, doesn't he?"

"Like a tiny little toddler foot in a tiny little toddler sock, custom made by Auntie Sally, or even Uncle Sherlock… that's how perfectly our sweet little Liam fits in," Greer mused, half serious, half teasing. Innocently, she sighed softly and made a pointed glance towards the ceiling as she took an exaggeratingly delicate sip at her glass of scotch.

"Oh, just sod off, the lot of you," Scott finally said, in his own defence. "This isn't anything any of us here haven't seen coming miles away. It's just all been very… _gradual._ SO gradual it's been seamless, I reckon."

"Seamless… yes, that's the word I'd use too. It's taken time that we needed, WELL worth the wait," Naomi pointed out. "Though I'd say Scottie and I have been far more patient than YOU lot. Seriously…!" she laughed. "So, Gregory Scott, shall we and my in-laws, that is to say your out-laws make it official to these impatient in-law siblings of yours?"

"Hmmmm," Scott said thoughtfully, drawing out the moment and trying not to throw his head back with a hearty laugh at the raised eyebrows of both Josie and Samuel at Naomi's off-hand "in-laws" remark. "I suppose… perhaps… we can't hide it forever and John is bound to lose patience eventually and just spill it…"

"Oh, HEY now, I think our baby sister may be the one to spill it before I would. Copper confidentiality be damned, she's not on duty with US…" John protested, as Greer fired him a stink-eye.

"We are what you MIGHT call… an ITEM," Naomi finally said, with a crooked smile to Scott. "Officially," as she held out her left hand. Taking a cue from her, Scott held his out as well.

"Seriously?" Sam enquired, his eyes suddenly huge. "Oh my God… Wait… what? You're… you've been married? When… who knew… what the HELL…?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much Samuel?" Scott smirked, as he motioned impatiently to his brother-in-law. "Now slide your arse over and make room for the happy newlyweds, ya goofy bloody Canuck."

"Truly?" Josie asked, with a glance to John, as she watched her husband's face glow with delight. "You're not just yanking on our chains?"

"YES," Naomi gigged. "Truly. Scott and I were married on the hush yesterday… John stood up for Scott, Greer stood up for me… what part of this isn't translating? Because frankly this is getting a bit awkward…"

At Greer's amused raised eyebrow, Naomi reverted with a held back laugh, to "Ma'am. With all due respect Detective Sergeant. Ma'am."

"At ease, Sister," Greer finally said, after several moments contemplation. "Now just to tell Mum and Dad!"


	133. It Takes A Woman

**_It Takes A Woman_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Molly and Greg, background only_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Greer and RCMP Cpl Paige Rhode mentioned_

 ** _Author's Note:_** _Cpl Rhode is first mentioned in Chapter 86, "Winnipeg McTavish"_

* * *

Molly, walking past the small room Greg used for an office, peeked in at him sitting at his laptop.

"Everything okay, Darling?" she asked, curiously. Greg took a moment to respond.

"Oh, Molly," he said, laughing lightly. "Yes, everything is fine. I've just received an email from Paige to pass on to Greer."

"Paige? As in Corporal Rhode, the Mountie you and Greer went on a ridealong with two summers ago?"

"Yes, the one and only," Greg chuckled, as he turned to smile at his wife. "We correspond regularly, sharing stories, cases, ideas, different sort've shop talk things. She knows how interested Greer is in becoming a policewoman when she grows up. Of course she knows of Julian as well, as one of her Constables befriended the Baileys when they went with us the last time."

"So this email… is it good news, or bad?" Molly asked curiously, as she came into the small room. "I mean, is it anything to be concerned about at all?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Greg said, as he clicked the print icon to produce a hard copy for Greer to read. "She's just written to let Greer know that the RCMP have just appointed a brand new permanent Commissioner… that's Canada's top Mountie by the way… the one in command of the entire national force, from coast to coast."

"That's a lot of Red Serge, Greg," Molly laughed lightly, as she retrieved the printed page from the printer. "No pressure there, hey?"

"Indeed, but I have a feeling their new boss will have the situation well in hand…"

Molly raised an eyebrow as she read the email, then turned to her husband with a bright grin. "Yes. I'm sure she quite will... Takes a woman to do such a job, now doesn't it!"

* * *

 ** _Author's note:_** _In March of 2018, Brenda Lucki, a 32 year veteran of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police – Canada's national police force - was named Canada's first female permanent Commissioner of the RCMP. She took command in April of 2018._


	134. A Child's Perspective

**_A Child's Perspective_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Greg and Molly_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Molly, Scott; Johnnie and Greer mentioned_

* * *

Greg entered the flat quietly, wondering why he didn't hear the usual din of children and a wife and even a telly in the background.

The moment he closed the door behind him, his eyebrows furrowed. He knew that Greer and the boys weren't planning to be anywhere but at home, and Molly was scheduled at least, to be home before he was, on this day.

He hung up his coat and stepped out of his shoes, nudging them with his feet onto the mat in the doorway.

"Scottie," he said quietly. "What's going on, Son?"

"Mummy had a bad day at work, Daddy. We're trying to be quiet to let her be. Oh, I SO want to go to her though. I hate it when she's sad like this."

Greg nodded at his boy, smiling softly. "I know, Scott. Maybe later, yeah?" He leaned down with a cautious smile to place a kiss on Scott's dark hair. "Where is she? Our bedroom?"

Scott merely nodded sadly at this. "Johnnie and Greer are in the kitchen making dinner. If Mummy lets you talk to her, tell her not to worry, we've got it covered… and we'll even clean up, too. And Daddy?" the young boy said, with a look of wisdom passing over his eyes, so much like Greg's.

Greg paused, listening.

"Please tell her that… well, we understand, sometimes she's sad after work, and well... you also, Daddy... The important thing is to remember all the happy she's surrounded by, and that in the end, the world isn't REALLY as big as it can sometimes feel. What's most important is right here, where her happy is. Your world really only has to be as big as this flat, when outside things make you sad."

"Will do, my boy," Greg said after a thoughtful pause, gazing at his son. Finally, tousling Scott's hair, he stood to leave the room. "What's for dinner, by the way?"

Scott smiled bashfully. "It's a surprise. We think Mummy will like it… Uncle John calls it soul food. Uncle Sherlock says it's adequate sustenance. Mrs. Hudson calls it her extra special old family recipe. She gave us a bottle of Irish stout to put in it…. But Uncle John made us promise not to taste it, just put it all in the pot… daddy, what's stout?"

"It's something… you'll learn about when you're old enough," Greg chuckled. "Thank you, Son. I'm sure it will be fantastic, it certainly smells good… is there something in the oven?"

"Oh, blast… sorry Daddy, I've got soda bread in the oven," Scott said, jumping up to dash into the kitchen. "Julian's daddy taught us how to make it, I hope it turns out…"

Greg smiled and shook his head at his departing son's back. He didn't see flames, smell smoke, or hear any alarms going off, so likely, he should just trust in his children, who seemed to be growing up awfully fast all of a sudden.

He made his way to the bedroom, rapping his knuckles on the door lightly before opening it.

"Molly? Scott said you were in here… he says you've had a bad day…"

He couldn't see much in the darkness of the room, but for Molly's silhouette. He heard her sigh in the darkness.

"Yes. A very bad day… but I think I'm okay now, darling. I just needed a bit of time to process it. We really do have the most remarkable children, don't we?"

"Indeed, we do. And they can cook too… we're going to be spoiled in our old age, I reckon."

"Oh, speak for yourself, Gregory. Old age indeed," Molly said lightly, as she rose to her feet. "You may be aging like an exquisite wine, but you're still aging. We ARE being spoiled, I think you mean!"

"You may be aging with the grace of an angel, but even you have lines where you didn't have the day we decided to get together. Time waits for no man, or woman, Molly Girl." He took her in his arms as she stood, embracing her with warming comfort born through their years together.

"When did our little children suddenly become… not so little anymore? They watch out for each other day to day, collaborate in the kitchen to feed our family, nurse each other back to health when one of them ails…" Molly asked, as she leaned into his arms, taking a deep breath, trying to guess what their children were cooking up.

"They even have wise words of wisdom now and then," Greg said, as he thought back on Scott's words, shockingly wise for his young age. "I think we benefit from that, I really do," he said. "There's just something about a child's perspective that can sometimes simplify the most over complicated problem… we adults sometimes have a tendency to do that. Ignore the simple solutions, disregard them. Children have no such tendencies. I like to think… in retrospect, we are raising each other, really."

"They see black and white, we only see shades of grey. Yes, we are raising each other," Molly said, as she turned to wrap an arm around Greg's waist, guiding him out the door. "We are raising good adults, they are raising good parents," she giggled. "Oh… my that smells delicious… I don't know who here is doing it, but they're raising good cooks, too…"


	135. Order and Chaos

**Order and Chaos**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Sherlock and Sally, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sherlock, Grace, Michael_

* * *

"Grace, NO," Michael warned, as he watched his sister, a gleam in her multi-coloured eyes. "You KNOW better than to disturb Daddy when he's in his mind palace… Grace… you really shou…"

Michael huffed a sigh of frustrated resignation as he watched his barely older sister delicately crawl into Sherlock's lap.

"I'm sorry Daddy," he whispered softly. "I tried to tell her not to disturb you. But she's just… so… OOOOOFFF," he finally huffed.

Grace snuggled up to her dad, relaxing against him.

Sherlock barely responded, but for a slight upturning at the corners of his mouth. The steepled fingers in front of his face barely moved.

"Grace, what have I told you?" Sherlock scolded lightly, not the least bit surprised to turn around to find his daughter joining him.

"Not to disturb you in your mind palace. I know Daddy, and I'm SO sorry… but I had a question and well…"

Sherlock sighed softly, smiling, as he approached his eldest. Crouching down to her level, he brought a hand up to touch her face. "Well?" he asked, patiently.

"Well… I have this teacher in school, and… wait… is this from your current case Daddy? Oh, it's FASCINATING… oh Daddy, let me help, PLEASE? Oh I promise I won't be in the way…"

"Fancy yourself a detective, do you my girl?" Sherlock responded lightly. "I'm not surprised, you do tend to look for facts and focus on the obvious… but this isn't a current case, really. I'm just in here to… organize a bit. Your mother gets a bit testy with me when I don't organize… so I've gotten used to it. This place is a bit…"

"Messy, Daddy?" Grace asked sweetly. "Oh, I don't think so… but if it makes Mummy happy it's worth it, isn't it?"

Sherlock found an easy chair, much like the one he'd had in 221B for years, and cleared it off, placing files and papers aside on the coffee table in front and the side table. He settled down, pulling his daughter into his lap. "Yes, it makes Mummy happy… but Gracie, she's not here. This is my own place, to do with what I wish. Yet I feel now… that I must tidy it somehow…"

"You love Mummy SO much that you want to please her, even where she can't visit you. Oh Daddy, it's SO obvious…"

Sherlock wrapped his arms around his daughter as he threw his head back with a deep baritone chuckle. "Yes, my darling girl. It IS obvious. I've changed since I fell in love with her. And I know she's changed too since she fell in love with me. Not a lot, mind you. We're still ourselves…"

"Mummy is still Mummy, as she was when you fell in love with her, and the same goes for YOU, Daddy. You couldn't still love each other if it was any other way… It makes sense, really…"

"How are you so wise, my Gracie?" Sherlock asked, with a smile that reached his eyes and beyond. Grace paused as she snuggled closer into her father's embrace.

"Oh, Uncle Greg… Grammy Hudson… Auntie Molly… Uncle John… you… Oh Daddy the list is endless… even from Michael. Oh he's SO smart, but don't you DARE tell him I said so, I CAN'T have him know how glad I am he's my brother. That would RUIN things."

"I promise you my dear girl, I shall not utter a word to your brother. Now… I know you have exceptional organisational skills. Mrs. Hudson has complained more than once that SOMEONE has arranged her videos first by genre, then by title, then by year, and she has heaps of trouble finding anything anymore. It sounds like chaos…"

"Oh Daddy, but there's order in chaos… WE know that."

"No, Grace. There is order in order. But you think as I do, and so your way of thinking… is order in chaos. Chaos in order. I know that whatever you do, I'll understand it. Now, shall we get to sorting this… whatever this is? Mummy has planned a movie night with all of us and I have no intentions of missing it. The sooner we get started, the better…"

Grace grinned broadly, jumping of her father's lap. "I know JUST where to start…" she declared happily, as she set to work.


	136. Michael's Deduction

**Michael's Deduction**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Sherlock and Sally, background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sherlock, Michael, Grace_

* * *

Grace Holmes was full of sass and loving every minute of watching her barely younger brother squirm.

"I'm telling you Mikey, you really need to see it. Oh, it's SO fascinating, and Daddy doesn't get nearly as upset as you'd think."

Michael glanced over at their father, sitting in his chair, serene as a sun bathed meadow on a calm Sunday afternoon. His hands were raised in their familiar steeple in front of his face, and his eyes were closed. Upon his face was the expression of utter peace and relaxation.

"I don't think so Gracie," Michael insisted. "I really think we should just leave him alo…"

"I DARE YOU."

Michael glared at his twin, his full lips pursing and his cat eyes narrowing. His young face was full yet, not yet taken on the familiar chiselled features of his father that would one day become prominent upon his own face. "I call no fair."

"I DOUBLE dare you." Grace crossed her arms and cocked her head, her tight ebony curls bouncing ever so slightly.

Michael sighed heavily, and quietly padded over to Sherlock. With one last glare at his sister, he gingerly crawled into his father's lap, snuggling down, and whispering, "Daddy, may I come in?"

Sherlock looked around. Oh, WHY did his children insist upon interrupting him like this… well… most likely it was Grace's doing, he surmised. Michael was generally far more obedient than his spirited twin sister.

"I believe the point is moot, Son," Sherlock said with a sigh. "You're already in. Let me guess. Your sister dared… no, DOUBLE dared you."

Michael couldn't stop a tiny giggle. "Yes, Daddy. I'm so sorry, but I couldn't… I mean… how would it have looked if I'd…"

Sherlock smiled at this, opening his arms. "No worries, my dear boy. You know, sometimes when Grace is here, it helps. She's very skilled with organization, and she's actually a great help to me. I confess I often become so engrossed in what I'm doing that things tend to become a bit…"

"Messy?" Michael asked, hopefully, as he settled into his father's embrace. "Oh Daddy, you're like that outside of your mind palace too. Oh, it drives Mummy MAD, and Mrs. Hudson even MORE mad," he giggled. "Did you know she's our landlady, not our housekeeper? Daddy why is she always cleaning then?"

"Because Mrs. Hudson is very, very special, Michael," Sherlock responded. "In fact, she's like Uncle John, and Uncle Greg. They like to put up a front for people to see, but only very special people get to see who they TRULY are."

"Is that why Uncle John is like… well like your brother? And Uncle Greg, why he's like Granddad Holmes, only much younger and better… oh please don't tell your daddy I said that… and Daddy… is that why you seem so… cold with some people? You don't want them to see who you REALLY are?"

Sherlock thought on this as he absently toyed with his son's hair, twirling the curls in his fingers. "I suppose, yes. But I also must ensure to keep my emotions and feelings in check when I'm working, I mustn't compromise my ability to use logic and reason while I'm examining clues and evidence. Such things leave absolutely no room for emotions. Logic and reason MUST be cold and unfeeling."

"So then… when you SEEM to be cross and impatient and rude… you aren't really? You're only ignoring your feelings?" Michael inquired thoughtfully. He smiled sweetly up at Sherlock, who returned a warm grin to his boy.

"Exactly," Sherlock said, reaching down to pick him up. "Ooof," he grunted, as he settled the young boy on his hip, "son, even in my mind palace you have gotten nearly too big to pick up like this."

Michael merely smiled at this, resting his head on his father's shoulder and sighing happily. "Do you know what I think, Daddy? I think that you don't waste your emotions at all when you shut them off. You save them for when you can let them out, like when you're home with us, or out with Uncle John and Uncle Greg at the pub. Then you love all of us TWICE as much because you have so much more emotion to let out."

Sherlock cleared his throat, pondering what his son had just said. Briefly, he wondered where he'd come up with the notion, then thought about it a few moments more.

Yes, that was perfectly logical and reasonable. After all, he knew what happened if anger and frustration were suppressed and forced to build up unreleased… one became something of a ticking bomb ready to go off at a moment's notice over any little thing that might act as a spark upon a mound of gun powder. So if that were true for negative emotions, why should it not also be true for positive ones?

"Son, I believe your logic is quite sound there," Sherlock finally chuckled softly. "You are more like your sister than you would ever care to admit. That is a most brilliant deduction, my dear boy."

Michael, indicating a desire to be set down, landed softly on his feet as Sherlock – not without considerable relief to his shoulders and back - lowered him to the floor. "Thank you Daddy, I'm not very good at deductions. But sometimes things are just… well, just as obvious as Gracie says they are."

"Indeed," Sherlock replied. "Now, for as much as I enjoy having you here, I really must get back to work. Your Uncle Greg is expecting my take on the case we worked on together today. I believe we've come very close to solving it."

"Yes Daddy," Michael smiled. "I'll see you later then, at dinner perhaps? Oh you MUST remember to eat. Mrs. Hudson says you're getting too thin again, and Uncle John thinks…" he rambled on, as Sherlock gently nudged him towards the Palace door.


	137. Mrs Hudson's Hoorah

**_Mrs. Hudson's Hoorah_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship, Angst_

 ** _Pairings:_** _None mentioned_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson in mentioning_

* * *

"Do you remember when she would claim certain… 'herbal' remedies for her hip? Yet you never felt compelled to infiltrate HER flat on one of your so-called "drugs busts"… Sherlock said, sad amusement tinging his trademark baritone.

"Mrs. Hudson never hid evidence from Scotland Yard," Greg pointed out, as he returned a crooked grin, before he himself sighed softly. Silence fell upon the trio of old cronies, each left with their thoughts, yet feeling compelled to share some of them, one way or another.

"If I had a quid for every time I had to tell her we weren't a gay couple…" John said, with a snort of humour.

"We might have afforded to move into larger accommodations rather quickly, I suspect," Sherlock retorted. "It took you marrying Mary to convince her, though there were times I suspected she assumed you played for both teams, and had merely chosen a side when you decided to be with a woman." At this, John chuckled softly as Greg raised his glass to take a pull.

"You know, you never did tell me exactly how many times that suspect fell out the window, Sherlock," Greg mused, "but I do remember Mrs. Hudson being a bit upset with you over the bloke landing on her bin. She was a spitfire, that woman. And a more colourful past than any of us, I reckon."

"I told you then, I'll tell you again, Gavin. I bloody LOST COUNT."

At this, John burst into laughter. "Yes, you did, Sherlock. You did have a tendency to… focus your attentions. How many times the bastard fell out the window was irrelevant. Greg?" He asked, turning to their eldest friend. "Were you terribly concerned?"

Greg took a breath, letting it out with his consideration of the question. "Nope," he finally replied, popping the 'P' as Sherlock would have, then turning to Sherlock with a subtle crooked smile, one which was returned with sad multicoloured eyes.

"Do you know what I remember above most things," Greg continued, as his expression abruptly changed. "I remember how she would make her famous potato and leek soup whenever someone was feeling southerly. My boys learned to make it from her, even in her last few weeks, they made it… in the hopes it would make her feel better." Greg paused here, as his breath caught. He closed his eyes, trying to regain composure. "Last week, Greer had a bit of a fever, or so THEY reckoned. Scott made that soup, Johnnie supervised. God, the legacy… in so many ways…" he trailed off. Roughly, he cleared his throat, taking a bracing breath.

"Last Christmas... actually the last two or three," John said. "I don't now about you but I was awake enough on Christmas Eve to notice her coming into the room and tucking us all in and kissing us goodnight. Alex remembers that, as do I."

"I noticed that as well," Greg said, as Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"Molly reckons she did that to everyone, even Kieran and Emma, and Phillip and Jackie. Julian, Gareth, Ciana, as well. We were her little brood on that night, all of us," Greg added. "I believe Christmas Eve was Mrs. Hudson's greatest joy... we were all here, under one roof. Everyone she held dear."

The trio of old cronies were silent for a short while, until finally, Sherlock roused them all.

"Right, then. John, Greg, are we ready? One of us must lead… only two can comfortably carry… I mean, are we decided yet?"

John coughed softly, his face hardening and his mouth pursing. He blinked several times whilst staring at something in the corner, as was his way. Finally, having regained his composure, he said, "Sherlock. I think you shall lead. I only met her when I agreed to move in with you years ago. Greg knew you before I, but you were her first boy. Greg and I shall carry her, but you lead us."

Sherlock paused at this, shuffling his feet. "May we not all three of us carry her? Leading seems so… detached. So cold and… so like what she detested in me most. I believe, with me centre rear, and you and Greg flanking," he reasoned, "we may all three of us carry her home."

John and Greg glanced at each other, then to Sherlock.

"Yes," Greg said thoughtfully. "Let's all three then. But first, a hoorah…"

John smiled, understanding. Sherlock, always ready to take a cue from his best friend, understood as well.

"Mrs. Hudson," John said. "She gave Sherlock a place to hang the damn hat, and then myself that bloody cane I didn't really need. In the end, she brought all three of her beloved boys home. Now, we three carry her thus."

"To Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock declared. "Hip hip HOORAH!" he cried out, and following in unison, were John, and Greg. "Hip hip, HOORAH!

With a final look to each other before bracing themselves to their present task, they finally called out together, the Baker Street Trio…

… "Hip hip, HOORAH!"


	138. Sherlock's Covert Mission

**Sherlock's Covert Mission**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship; Mild romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Sherlock and Sally; Greg and Molly mentioned_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Sherlock, Sally, McTavish family mentioned_

* * *

Sally Donovan-Holmes breathed in the air deeply, letting it settle into the very deepest depths of her lungs, and letting it reach where her spirit dwelled.

"Mmmm, tell me again Git, why we're here?|

Sherlock said nothing for several moments, as he clutched her hand and they walked side-by-side on the reddish-brown sand of the beach the Lestrades had highly recommended for a Western Canadian vacation.

"Blame Greg and Molly. They said it was marvellous. Now that we're actually here, however, I must say…"

"They were right. Oh Git… we've had such a month of it. Those poor missing babies, and that gran who was…"

Sherlock shushed his wife with a squeeze to her shoulders, as he moved his arm up to draw her closer. "Hush now, Old Plod. Greg was well aware of all of that, as am I. That's why they booked us on the first flight out of London to this glorious place of solitude. So we could recharge without life interfering."

Sally smiled to herself, as she wrapped her arm around her husband just bit tighter. "I wonder how Michael and Grace are faring with the McTavish family…"

"They're perfectly fine, Sally," Sherlock insisted with a smile. He paused their walk, turning to her. "You worry too much, Old Plod," he said, as he leaned down to kiss her lightly. "We're here to RELAX, remember? And besides, I'm also here on a covert mission…"

"Oh?" Sally giggled, her mood beginning to relax noticeably. "And what's that?"

"I'm… observing Sherla's future husband. Samuel McTavish has… INTENTIONS towards my niece, and I intend to discover just what they are."

"SHERLOCK," Sally scolded. "you mean, you're stalking him, spying on him. Oh, you bloody Git, they're CHILDREN. Sam has no more intention right now towards Greer than Daniel Watson has towards Grace."

"Oh, a very POOR example, my love. Daniel most assuredly has intentions towards our daughter. There may not be any tangible evidence of yet, but mark my words, there will be. Just as Samuel has intentions towards Sherla."

"And do you object to either?" Sally asked, as she yanked his arm to get him moving again. The concession booth was now within eyeshot and Sally had a mad craving all of a sudden for a soft-serve ice cream cone with butter pecan dip. Sally's quarry was within eyeshot and she was on the scent…

"No, if I'm honest. Both with have nothing but HONOURABLE intentions, of that I'm quite sure. No, my concern is merely… knee-jerk, I suppose. Samuel is a good boy, a respectful one. Just as Daniel is, and they will both grow to be gentlemen. Oh, my Old Plod… I suppose I'm just being a ridiculous old man…" he trailed off, almost sheepishly.

"Bollocks. You're a dad, and a damned good one, and nobody can fault you for your concern. Actually… it's incredibly charming and attractive. Now, do we want our ice cream on the deck of the concession booth, or on the beach?"

"Neither," Sherlock said, with a wink. "I believe we may consume our treats on a short stroll towards the mini-golf course. I intend to make you beg for mercy on the seventh hole."

"Oh, is that RIGHT, then is it?" Sally laughed. "Seems to me the fifth hole is your Achilles heel, Git. We'll just SEE then who begs for mercy…"


	139. Points of View

**Points of View**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Friendship_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Rosie and Julian pre-pairing friendship; others background_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Rosie, Julian in mentioning_

* * *

Greg kept silent as he rode Goldie, letting the Palomino mostly lead them to where they were going.

Next to him, on Pepper, the sprited but currently patient thoroughbred, Rosie rode in uncomfortable silence.

Pepper huffed now and then, giving hints to his rider. Rosie had long since learned to heed hints from her steed, but this time, however, she was simply feeling stubborn.

"So… Little Lass…" Greg finally broke the silence. "You and Julian have had a bit of a row…"

Rosie huffed audibly, frustrated in both her anger towards her best friend, and her frustration at said anger. She simply wasn't used to such a disagreement with Jules, and it was setting her on edge.

"Not sure I understand exactly what it's all about, you see," Greg continued, casually, "though, I do know the details. But it would seem to make sense to me that if it were… oh, say… myself and Auntie Molly… we might find a way to meet in the middle as it were…"

"We're NOT you and Auntie Molly, Uncle," Rosie finally said, her mouth a tight line.

"You may as well be, Little Lass," Greg smiled cautiously. "See, there are certain people who are just meant to be together… Myself and Auntie Molly for example. Now we've had our share of arguments over the years, but we've always managed to see each other's points of view, and one way or another, it's always set us to rights again. Uncle Sherlock and Auntie Sally… and your Mum and Dad, for small example, have always felt this way too. Now you and Julian, you may be too young yet to actually date and officially become a couple, but everyone knows that's just a matter of time. You're old souls, nothing can change that, or ruin it, dear girl."

"I just don't understand why he can't see that I'm RIGHT though, Uncle. He's SO stubborn!" Rosie heaved a frustrated sigh, as her hands dropped. Absently, she fiddled with Pepper's mane, twisting the coarse hairs gently in her fingers.

Greg laughed at this, causing Rosie to look up sharply and scowl fiercely at her beloved Uncle.

"It's NOT FUNNY!" she said angrily, firing blue eyed daggers at him. At this, Pepper grunted and snorted, as if in agreement with his favourite rider.

Greg took a deep breath and let it out audibly. "No, Little Lass, of course it isn't. Julian isn't stubborn, he's Irish. He can't help it! And YOU, my girl, are a Watson Morstan hybrid. You might as well be Irish yourself! And as for YOU," he said with amusement, re-directing his comment to Peppercorn, "You just keep your horsey opinions to yourself, you big grand old sod!"

Rosie's scowl grew even deeper, as her mouth downturned into a frown. Greg smiled at her warmly. "Look, Rosamund… it's like this… I'm not saying you're wrong, but I'm not saying Julian is either. It's just that sometimes things might be looked at from different angles. Truth can sometimes be a matter of perspective. Take a ceiling fan for example. I recall one time when Johnnie and Scott had an argument over which direction it was turning. Scottie insisted it was clockwise, and John insisted it was counter-clockwise. But they were each looking at it from different points of view. When I looked at it from Scott's way of thinking, he was right. Then I looked at it from Johnnie's, and you know what Little Lass?"

Rosie sighed, beginning to understand quite clearly what Greg was saying. "Johnnie was right too?"

"Yes," Greg laughed softly. "They were BOTH right, and when they each took the time to look at that stupid ceiling fan the way the other one was, then they could see it too."

"So… you think Jules and I just need to take the time to examine each other's points of view?"

"Yes, I do actually," Greg said thoughtfully, as he brought Goldie around to begin their ride back to the stables. "Now I happen to know what your row was about, and I also happen to know from Julian talking to me about this very thing what HIS point of view is. Believe me Little Lass, he's no happier being on the outs with YOU than you are being on the outs with HIM, so he's willing to look at it from your angle. I know you don't need to be told this Rosie, but that boy loves you fiercely."

Rosie smiled shyly at this, knowing how true it was. "Yeah," she said. She glanced down at Pepper's sleek neck and his twitching ears, smiling mostly to herself. "He's going to marry me someday…"

Greg allowed a few moments to pass while he sensed Rosie's mood beginning to shift, allowing her feelings for her best friend once again take front and centre stage in her thoughts. Finally, he spoke again.

"HOWEVER," he continued, as he navigated Goldie around a fallen tree, "I'm afraid I've got some good news and bad news both…"

Rosie, her mood lightened again between Uncle Greg's advice, the unnecessary affirmation that Julian loved her, and the calming effect Pepper always managed to have on her, finally turned her smile to him. "No, no don't tell me Uncle. Let me guess… the good news is, I'm right. The bad news is, Julian is also right…"

"Beautiful and wise, my girl," Greg chuckled. "Yes. From a neutral standpoint having viewed the problem from all angles, as any good copper should… you are both right, in my professional police detective's opinion," he winked.

"Do you think he'll forgive me for being such a stubborn little prat?" Rosie asked suddenly, sounding worried. Next to her, Greg cleared his throat.

"Reckon so, but only if you forgive HIM for being a stubborn little git." He raised an eyebrow as he turned to look at Rosie.

As they rode in reflective silence, the patient equines they were mounted upon huffed and whinnied softly in mutual agreement.


	140. Mrs Hudson's Soup

**_Mrs. Hudson's Soup_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family_

 ** _Pairings:_** _None mentioned_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Scott, Johnnie, Greer, Sally mentioned_

* * *

"Scott, I'm sure it's fine," Greg said, as he stood in the kitchen in 221C.

"It has to be PERFECT, Daddy. Mrs. Hudson…" the young boy trailed off, his voice catching.

Greg moved towards his boys, as Greer sighed sadly and quietly stepped in. "It's alright Scottie," she whispered. "I'll stir it so it won't burn. I've got your back."

"Baker Street will NEVER be the same again," Johnnie said, as he moved towards his father. Gratefully, he glanced towards Greer, stirring the soup with one hand and wiping away tears in a rather frustrated fashion with the other.

"No, it won't, boys. But sometimes we need to say goodbye. Other times we need to remember and do justice to the memory. Now, Auntie Sally is feeling rather poorly and you're making Mrs. Hudson's soup for her. That's called a legacy, and it means that you're carrying on something on behalf of someone who is gone and can no longer do it themselves…" Greg said. He took a deep breath himself, before continuing. "Now, it smells perfect, it looks perfect, and I'm sure it IS perfect. Now look at Greer," he said gently, as he observed his daughter, quietly strong for the brothers and father she adored.

"She's just… carrying on, as though nothing were different. But Daddy, it IS different," Scott sniffled.

"Yes, son, it is. Things will never be the same again, but LOOK. Greer is sad too, watch her. But she's carrying on. She knows things are different and she misses Mrs. Hudson too, but she's strong. She'll help you through your sadness. Sometimes you'll be the ones helping her through sad times too. That's the thing about family!"

Johnnie and Scott shared a look before they glanced at their sister, now visibly fighting a deluge of tears, yet diligently still stirring their soup pot.

"We're sometimes sad, but sad together," Johnnie said thoughtfully.

"We're never really alone, are we?" Scott asked.

Greg smiled. "No, we're not. But in the meantime, Auntie Sally is in need of your soup. I'm hoping you've made plenty for leftovers."

"Mrs. Hudson didn't know how to make anything small," Johnnie pointed out. "So she didn't teach us to make her potato leek soup any other way. Oh Daddy, we'll be eating this bloody soup… oh I'm sorry," he blushed. "This sodding… oh no that's even WORSE," he giggled, looking to Scott, whose expression was lightening with every word of his twin brother's awkward explanation.

"I think what he means is we'll be eating this damned soup… oh no… well…" Scott blushed, as he watched Greer, a small smile forming as she stirred and tasted. "We shall have lunch for a few days, Daddy."

Greg smiled at this, relieved at the lightening in his childrens' moods. "Well, I happen to know that Mrs. Hudson's soup is only better the next day, so we've nothing to be concerned about!"


	141. Safe, Sound, Secure

**_Safe, Sound, Secure_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Drama_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Ensemble_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Baker Street Ensemble_

* * *

When Greg, Sherlock, and John returned to Baker Street, it was with the greatest reluctance and utter exhaustion.

"No luck, Darling?" Molly asked quietly, as she glanced to their sleeping brood, crashed in the living room over an abandoned game of Pictionary.

"None, Love," Greg said, as he shoved his hand through his hair, already mussed and dishevelled from missed sleep and a missed shower. "We've no clue where she could have gotten to."

Upstairs, Alex brewed a cup of herbal tea for John, as Rosie stirred in her room from the sounds coming from the kitchen in 221A. Daniel also briefly stirred, and trying to go back to sleep, finally gave up.

"She can't be THAT far, she's only small, John," Alex said, hopefully. "Sherlock hasn't deduced at all from the evidence that this could be a stranger abduction, so clearly she simply got out and wandered off."

"Clearly, yes, sweetheart," John said, his dark multicoloured eyes bleary with exhaustion. "The problem is the time of year, Alexandra." John took a deep breath, letting it out in frustration. "London isn't exactly warm when the sun sets at at this time of the year…"

Upstairs, Sherlock stumbled in, finding himself in Sally's arms as she prepared to leave, continuing the search.

"So, Git. What can you tell me that I don't already know?" she asked gently, aware that her husband was short of patience and energy both.

"There's no evidence of abduction, at least not from her place of residence. The balance of probability suggests she simply got out and wandered off. I've followed… sorry, WE'VE followed the trail of clues as far as we can… still, she's nowhere to be found. I would focus my efforts, if I were you…" he trailed off.

"I'm not you, Git. Maybe that's going to be a problem, but I can pick up where you've left off," Sally replied, as she pulled her coat on.

"Fresh eyes, Old Plod," Sherlock said finally, as he smiled wearily at her. "Not being me may be the solution. Or at the very least it can't do any harm. Given her size, I would focus within a kilometre radius of her residence. Unfortunately this includes a bit of dense bush."

Sally didn't even blink. She'd been to Saskatchewan twice now, and recognized the phrasing. "So near a park then, with trees and shrubbery and such. Got it, Git," she said softly, as she brought a hand up to stroke her husband's tired face.

"Daddy?" Michael said softly, as he approached with Grace from behind. "Have you considered the possibility… I mean Gracie says it's SO OBVIOUS… but I think she's really right…"

"Oh Mikey, why aren't you in bed," Sally tsked, as she tried to usher their twins back into their bedroom. She was met with a multicoloured glare, courtesy of her daughter, with a shake of her dark curls for good measure.

"No… no, Sally… our children are really very clever," Sherlock pleaded. "At this point to be perfectly honest, I'm willing to listen to any suggestion…"

In the basement, Greer and the twins had stirred as well.

"Uncle Sherlock is probably right," Scott started. "Uncle Sherlock is ALWAYS right… well most of the time…"

"When it comes to things like this, Daddy, he is. But I think you grownups are missing something obvious…" Johnnie added.

Greg, too exhausted to resist further advice at this point, sunk himself down onto the couch, while Molly perched herself on the arm next to him.

"She's frightened, Daddy," Greer said calmly. "And there are a bunch of grownups looking for her. STRANGE grownups. She's not going to come out for any of you, wherever she is."

Molly smiled at Greg, the smile she gave him when she knew they were witnessing a childlike wisdom that they had both grown too old to see or appreciate until it slapped them both squarely upside the head.

In 221A, John had sat himself down in his easy chair, with Rosie and Daniel both perched on either side of him.

"You need US, Daddy. We're not grownups, we're KIDS, just like her," Rosie pleaded. "If she's anything like us, and Gracie and Michael, and Greer and Scott and Johnnie, she's been taught all about stranger danger. She'll not come out for any grown up, but she may stop hiding for a kid, like us. PLEASE, Daddy, can we help? She's so small…"

"And SO cold and probably SO afraid too. PLEASE, let us help?" Daniel pleaded.

In the ground floor landing at 221 Baker Street, six weary adults met, including one who was heading out for her shot at locating the missing girl.

"I can't believe we're considering this," Sally said softly. "But I just can't… I mean we've already tried everything else…"

"Agreed, Sergeant," Greg said, as he glanced to Molly. "I don't even care it's a school night anymore. If our children can coax this little girl out of hiding before it's too late to find her alive, well I don't know about you lot, but Molly and I are willing to let our three in on this."

"Hypothermia will act quickly on her little body," John agreed. "Rosie and Daniel are insisting. I'm not sure about Danny, but I'm willing to let Rosie go. She's the oldest of our kids, and a born caregiver. If anyone can talk her into coming out of hiding, it's our little lamb."

"Grace can follow a clue like nothing I've ever seen. Even Mycroft marvels at how clever his niece is, and Michael is determined." Sherlock laughed softly at this. "To be honest John, my children remind me of you and me. If they're like us in the least, they cannot fail. The balance of probability is firmly in favour of their success."

"Right then," Molly said, giving Greg's waist a squeeze. "I suggest we get on with it. Sally, you lead with Kieran, I'll be there as well, and Alex will accompany for medical assistance. That is, of course," Molly amended with a sheepish smile, "if it's agreeable to you, Sgt Donovan."

"Absolutely," Sally said, leading the charge out the door.

By the end of the night, one very frightened, very cold, and very small young girl had been located. Coaxed out of hiding by the youthful voices of the children of Baker Street, she found refuge in the arms of Sally Donovan, who wrapped the young girl in a blanket and held her close, as though their lives both depended upon it.

Molly, with a tired half smile to Alex, texted Greg to let him know that their missing child was no longer missing. Then, she texted Sherlock, to let him know his hunch and his deduction both were correct.

To John, Alex simply texted "Safe, sound, secure."

At Baker Street, three dads and one young boy, judged too young to venture out on such a mission, heaved a collective sigh of relief, before they all surrendered to exhaustion.

* * *

 ** _In memory of_** ** _Ashley Krestianson_** ** _, who went missing at the age of 8 near Tisdale, Saskatchewan, and was found several months later. Her cause of death was determined to be hypothermia._**


	142. For a Good Cause

**_For a Good Cause_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Humour; Mild Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Baker Street ensemble including Julian and Rosie, Kieran and Emma, Phillip and Jackie_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Baker Street and beyond ensemble_

* * *

"PISS OFF, ya damned Git!" Sally Donovan-Holmes asserted, as her husband leaned in for a week long overdue and desperately yearned for kiss.

"Oh, come ON my beautiful Old Plod. It's just a peck. A little kiss. I YEARN for it, my darling. I MISS it so, you've denied me for a veritable LIFETIME…" Sherlock pleaded, putting on the best dramatic performance he had managed since the time he had begged to be allowed to bring an experiment or three into their kitchen.

"I am NOT kissing you as long as you've got that THING residing on your upper lip. I don't care how full and sexy and pouty those lip are. I don't care how desirable they are. As long as you remain unshaven I shall not grace them with MY lips."

Sally glared at Sherlock, her lips pursed. "Besides," she softened slightly, brushing his face with her hand. "I KNOW it's only for a few more weeks… but still…"

"It's for a good cause, my girl," Sherlock insisted. "My Homeless Network has been working night and day panhandling extra just for it… Billy has been keeping me up to date on their progress… I've promised extra favours for them for the efforts…"

Downstairs on the main level, John Watson was facing a similar predicament.

"Maybe Mary thought it was sexy, or at least tolerable…" Alex began, with narrowed eyes.

"Actually," John admitted, "Mary didn't like it much either. She just sort of… put up with it, because she loved me," he trailed off hopefully.

"OH, then," Alex countered, crossing her arms. "So I'm supposed to put up with THAT on my husband's face for the remainder of the month just because my beloved predecessor PUT UP WITH IT… now, mind, I love her because she loved you and she's Rosie's Mum... but she was NOBODY'S fool..."

"Oh no, Alexandra. Oh Love, no… Mary hated it. She finally admitted that… but she loved me, so it didn't matter in the end, it was just a small annoyance…"

"A TEMPORARY annoyance? John Hamish Watson I had better have this in writing…"

John laughed out loud at this, whether from stress or frustration, he could never be sure in retrospect.

"You DO have it in writing. And the staff at the surgery are keeping track. Oh, it's for such a good cause, Love…"

In another flat in London, not far from Baker Street, a certain little blonde lass gazed at her young Irish laddie.

"Oh, Jules," Rosie giggled. "It's SO FUNNY! Daddy is growing this horrid moustache and Mummy Alex ABHORS it! I'm SO glad you're too young for that! Oh I couldn't let you kiss me otherwise!"

Julian Bailey laughed at this. "Well I'm glad to hear that Rosa, because MY Dad is on kissing suspension from Mum over all of this. He blames Mr. Greg for the order, but Mum doesn't buy it at ALL." Julian prefaced this by wrapping a single arm around his Rosa, and pressing a kiss upon her temple. "Might I apologize in advance, Rosa? There will be a day someday when I may grow my own… for this very reason."

Rosie paused at this. Finally, she replied, "Well, by then perhaps I may have gotten over it. Let's hope so, Jules?" she laughed, with a sly little smile. "Anyway, who's to know it won't suit you?"

In a certain townhouse in another part of London, a certain wiry forensics technician smiled warmly at his own wife, while their daughter looked on.

"I don't know, Daddy," Ciana Jane Anderson said. "I don't think it's THAT bad, really?"

"You SEE, Jaqueline?" Phillip said defensively. "Our beautiful, smart, incomparable daughter even thinks it's okay. You KNOW how brilliant she is, after all, and she clearly takes after her mother, now don't you my beautiful little princess?" he said, turning to their daughter.

Ciana regarded her father carefully, smiling. "I think it suits him, Mummy," Ciana finally said, turning to Jackie. "I don't know I'd like it ALL the time, but oh Mummy, it's ONLY for a few more weeks? And only ONCE per year… And it's for SUCH a good cause…"

"You've dragged our innocent little daughter in to this ON PURPOSE, Phillip," Jackie accused. "But, I can't say no to her either. Or YOU, you lanky blue eyed bastard..." Secretly, Jackie didn't think it was THAT bad, though she was grateful it was only for another three weeks.

Back at Baker Street, in the basement flat of 221C, a certain Detective Inspector steeled himself to defend his cause to his wife.

"Molly Girl… you know I've reason for allowing this to happen…" he pleaded, quite without shame or regrets.

"You had better make this worth my while, Gregory Joseph Lestrade," Molly said sternly, crossing her arms.

"Movember is not permanent, Love," Greg said. It's a full week through now that we've all enough growth to piss off our wives. Sherlock has the Homeless Network panhandling funds. John has his surgery patients tossing notes into a jar. I've my team raising money too, and Phillip and Kieran are both in the lead with that as they've both gotten Ciana, and Julian and Gareth canvassing at their schools. You know," he said seductively as he could manage under the circumstances, "word on the street has it that the other wives of 221 Baker Street are all on board with being the ones to shave their husbands' upper lips on November 30th… might this not be worth a little… donation?"

Molly paused at this, thinking to a prior conversation with the other wives. For as much as she preferred Greg to be either clean shaven or at the most, stubbly in the sexiest of fashions – an all out deliberate growth on any part of his face was a bit… disturbing to her. But Molly was used to improvising.

She had been around Sherlock enough to learn to follow the clues and roll with them. She had been around Mrs. Hudson long enough to embrace those twists and turns. And, she had been with Greg long enough to love without condition the ways in which their relationship would keep them both on their toes enough to keep life with each other exciting and invigorating – never boring or routine.

"Well…" she hinted, seductively. "There may be… BENEFITS… temporary of course… but after all a full MONTH of said benefits every twelve months… well I could learn to work with this…"

"Are you in cahoots with Sally and Alex, perchance? And probably Emma and Jackie as well?" Greg asked, suspiciously. This all seemed a bit too… EASY. A bit too rehearsed, in fact.

"Gregory Joseph, I've NO idea what the hell you're on about," Molly tsked, waving her hand dismissively. "Now, the benefits. All mine of course. First off, I have the rest of the month off from cooking duties. Deal with it as you must. If you've no time to actually cook, takeaway will work just fine. I've no problems with your methods, as long as our family is fed."

Greg nodded at this, listening carefully, feeling mildly victorious, whilst planning ahead how to meet this criteria...

Upstairs, Alexandra Watson stood with her hand firmly on her hips, regarding her husband carefully as he absorbed the terms of the agreement.

"Second of all, John," she said, "I expect a full massage once per week after last shift before the weekend. You may think being your nurse is an easy task, but I assure you, it comes with many stresses not necessarily related to you, and those can really bugger up the muscles. I'm not talking a romantic, leisurely massage either, so you can get THAT right out of your mind… Oh don't GIVE me that look, husband," Alex continued, her eyes narrowing in much the same way they did when giving Rosie and Daniel verbal warnings.

John sighed heavily. This Movember thing was turning into a right pain in the ass. But, he had more than one patient with the medical issues Movember was meant to raise awareness and funds towards, so he was nothing if not determined to stick this out. He thought about David, Terry, Patrick, Derrick… his survivors. Then thought with sad reflection upon Larry, Donny, Mike, Jack… who didn't make it. And then upon Frank, Adam, Kevin, Ryan… his fighters. Suddenly, he realized, the minor row with his wife was worth sticking it out.

Further upstairs, in 221B, Sally raised an eyebrow and cocked her head, her curls bouncing slightly with the movement – something Sherlock always found to be utterly endearing, under even THESE circumstances.

"Now of course," Sally said, feigning a reasonable tone, "Gracie and Michael are tidy tots, as a rule. But kids are kids and they can sometimes forget themselves a bit, MUCH like their father. As part of the deal, it will be up to YOU and YOU ALONE to clean up after them, as well as prepare meals…"

"Oh damnit anyway, Old Plod, you know the only thing I know to make for dinner are bloody reservations…!" Sherlock protested.

"I didn't say you had to MAKE them, only that you have to PREPARE them. We can do takeaway, and Mrs Hudson did leave us with many meals in the freezer that we must finish using up soon. Not to mention we have a standing date with the Lestrades and the Watsons to join the Baileys and the Andersons once per week…" Sally's smile softened as she placed her hands around Sherlock's waist. "I suspect those dinner dates may increase in frequency this month," she grinned teasingly.

"It'll be FINE, Git," she promised, as she finally kissed the full pouty moustached lips she had vowed not to touch for the rest of the month.

At the Bailey flat, Emma sat down with deliberate grace and smiled sweetly at her Irish husband.

"Grow it with a goatee and we have a deal," she finally said. "I've always wanted to see you with a goatee. I know you can't necessarily keep it what with the regulations and all, but there's always been something about a man with a neatly trimmed and groomed goatee that I've always found… oh what is that term they use in Saskatchewan?"

"Hella sexy, Mum," Julian volunteered, grinning. Standing next to him, Rosie raised an eyebrow. "It's the rough equivalent of 'dishy', I believe," Julian continued, with brave determination. "Oh MUM, don't give me that look, please? If I'm old enough to kiss Rosa then surely I'm old enough to say THAT."

"You're NOT old enough to kiss Rosie," Emma protested, while Kieran sat quietly, not quite yet daring to speak, while he absently scratched the itchy stubble of the fledgling moustache on his upper lip.

"Actually Love, he is. Sorry… our little boy isn't so little anymore, I hate to bring you up to speed like this, but they're actually… an ITEM now. Like… officially. Oh Son, stop looking at me like that. We all know it! Besides, everyone knows you're going to marry Rosie someday, so really, this was going to happen anyway."

"YOU ARE DEFLECTING, Kieran Patrick Bailey. And you are shamelessly using OUR son to do so too!" Emma accused.

Kieran stifled a hearty chuckle, managing to express it as a cough. "Guilty as charged, Love. A goatee, I think I can do this. There were no rules stated against a goatee WITH the moustache. I'm sure Greg will think it's fine."

* * *

In the end, the men of Baker Street, and their cohorts, managed to raise a tidy little sum for their cause.

The women of Baker Street, and their Sisters, with much glee, organized a party that November 30th.

Their men were excused from any and all duties, whilst a proper dinner party was organized, complete with the whole contingent of their offspring.

"One day," Rosie said teasingly, "I shall shave you like this, Jules…"

Julian sighed. "Well then Rosa, let's only hope you think a beard suits me…"

"What I think doesn't matter, really… You're not to only be my husband, you're also to be a copper someday, like Uncle Greg, and Auntie Sally, and your Daddy. Beards are against Yarder policy…"

Julian glanced at his mentors. His dad, Mr. Greg, Mr. John. Mr. Sherlock, Mr. Phillip… and wondered how ever they were coping with their women… but not only that, trusting them all with a straight razor, of all things.

"Well then Rosa," Julian finally said. "Let's just hope that a beard on me suits YOU for a full 30 days in November, someday!"


	143. Messing With the British Government

**Messing With the British Government**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Humour; Mild Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Mycroft and Anthea_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg and Sherlock_

* * *

 _"Is it over?"_ the encrypted text message read. _"If it isn't, you shan't see your brother alive again."_

Sherlock, absently scratching the growth above his upper lip, paused with a grin of pure evil mischief.

"She's asking if it's over," he said to Greg, a half hour later over morning coffee.

'TELL ME Mycroft did not grow a moustache for Movember," Greg said, as he buttered a lemon ginger scone that Greer had made the night before, using Molly's recipe.

"God help us all, he did. And Anthea is LIVID. What she sees in my brother is beyond me, but then again they both seem as cold and distant as I am… oh…"

"Yup," Greg said wisely, as he poured a second cup for his company. "I think Anthea and Mycroft have a little thing going on… but we'll never see it. See Sherlock, it all comes down to deductions. You see things, I see people… remember not that many years ago we had this discussion…"

"You're a bastard. Worse still, you're… irrelevant…" Sherlock sniffed, able to think of nothing better by way of an insult.

"Maybe, in the eyes of your brother and his lady. The point is, for as distant and asexual as your brother comes across as, there's just something about his personal assistant, and something about him to her, that is appealing somehow."

"Well… not, apparently, his moustache. Damnit Lestrade, I feel compelled to lie to her… just for the sake of a little fun… tell me that's a bad idea. I SO want to hear it's ill-advised…"

"Don't mess with the British Government," Greg finally said, as he nibbled a particularly scrumptious lump of candied ginger. "She can be a real bear when you piss her off."

"Translation," Sherlock said, as he carefully stirred his third cup. "Tell Anthea to drag my brother over to Baker Street with a well honed straight razor, two days hence?"

Greg thought about this for only a moment, long enough to swallow the bit of scone and wash it down with a pull of his coffee cup.

"Yup," he said, with a wink.


	144. Gareth's Calling

**_Gareth's Calling_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; FUTURE FIC_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Julian and Rosie mentioned_

 ** _Main characters:_** _John, Gareth, Greg, and Sherlock_

* * *

John Watson wasn't quite sure how to feel about all of it.

The baby he had held before his own son had arrived, before Alex had come into his midst in that way, was about to suddenly graduate.

It seemed quite impossible that his… son-in-law's brother? Was suddenly 18.

Gareth, who he had held and loved, at the time thinking he'd have no other little boy to help raise as his own (as Rosie and Julian were already thick as thieves by then, and clearly were going to be joined forever, and thus, the Bailey family joined to the Watsons without question, even then), was all of a sudden verging upon adulthood. Post-secondary school even!

The boys of Baker Street, and beyond, had come together in the tradition, with Sherlock and Greg egging them on.

At the gathering to celebrate Gareth's introduction into the next chapter of his young life, John stood by and listened as the voices of all of their boys came together. Julian in a not unexpected sweet Irish tenor, one that made the heart actually skip; John and Scott Lestrade with their twin harmony, that took on a different note, a bit reminiscent of Molly, to add to what they had inherited from Greg's quiet and unobtrusive vocal talent. Even Michael Holmes, younger than Gareth, joined in. Sherlock may not have been able to carry a tune had he held it in his back pocket, but Michael had Sally's genes in him to compensate.

 _"May your hands always be busy, may your feet always be swift, may you have a strong foundation when the winds of changes shift, may your heart always be joyful, may your song always be sung, and may you stay forever young…" **_

"This is not an easy path, my boy," John advised, quietly but not without a strong dose of pride. "Are you absolutely SURE of this? It's going to change you, irrevocably change you. Once you begin there will be no turning back… and the perils you could face…" John paused, his voice becoming soft. He cleared his throat as his gaze averted to the corner, as was his habit. Blinking rapidly, he steeled himself, and raised his eyes to look his daughter's young brother-in-law in the eyes. "I just want to know you are fully aware of what you're getting yourself into."

"This just seems right, Mr. John," Gareth said. "Seems everyone has found their place up until me. My big brother is a copper, so is Greer. Rosie is a nurse, Johnnie and Scott are paramedics. Can't top any of that now can I Mr. John!" Gareth laughed heartily. He waited for John to finally let his expression of worry morph into a smile, before finishing. "They all have what I would say is a calling. This is mine. I know you're afraid for me, Mr. John, and I do appreciate that… it's just that… I feel compelled to do this. And in the end, think of the rewards! Think of what I plan to make of myself in the coming years…!"

John sighed heavily. The young man before him did have a point. Julian, Rosie, Greer, Johnnie, Scott… they all had callings of their own. And when John thought about it, that was the reason he had chosen the path that young Gareth Bailey was about to embark upon.

"Look, Mr. John… I know what I was to you as a baby, before Mrs. Alex and Daniel arrived… really you're like a second dad, so I want you to be proud of me… I want to serve King and Country… I want to serve like you did… well… God willing not exactly like you did… but I'm willing should duty call me to it. But in the meantime… I want to start studies."

John, a bit overwhelmed, stopped at this. Clearly this was a little lad, not so little anymore, who knew his place and his calling both.

"Studies? For what my little laddie?"

"Well, Mr. John… Rosie and Julian know about this, and Mum and Dad too of course… though it took a bit of convincing on the whole armed forces bit… but I'm to start pre-medical studies whilst in the military, to become a doctor. Like you. And hopefully NOT like you," Gareth chuckled softly. "What I meant to say is, I hope to undergo and complete my studies without having to carry out my calling on the battlefield."

"You are a wonder, my lad," John finally said, as Sherlock and Greg both approached. "Well, I'll accept that then, you're an Irishman and you can tell an Irishman, but you can't tell him much, I'd say," he chuckled. "Just promise me one thing. I'll take this bit of news without further protest under one simple condition."

Gareth, curious and amused at the same time, smiled brightly, his green eyes dancing. "What's that, Mr. John?"

"Well, I want to retire someday. Sooner rather than later, I reckon. So, you must promise that one day, when you're finished medical school and your residencies and such,that you'll take over my surgery."

"Oooooh, Garry, he drives a hard bargain," Greg said, as he glanced to Sherlock, the two men having arrived several minutes prior and stood listening to the exchange in amused silence.

"The balance of probability suggests that we shall have our next family physician sometime in the next several years," Sherlock casually observed. "And I'm quite certain we shall all be in capable hands. That is, of course, provided that John fully surrenders his surgery to young Dr. Gareth Bailey…"

* * *

 _ **** "Forever Young" as performed by The Canadian Tenors, and written by Bob Dylan, Kevin Savigar, Jim Cregan, and Steve Harley. No copyright infringement is intended.**_


	145. What's Good for the Goose

**_What's Good for the Goose_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Family; Humour; Mild Romance_

 ** _Pairings:_** _Rosie and Julian_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Rosie and Julian (early teens)_

* * *

Rosie Watson tried her damndest to glare at her best friend, but found herself only met with the laughing green Irish eyes of Julian Bailey.

"WHAT is so bloody funny, Julian Andrew Bailey?"

Julian knew he was in trouble when his Rosa called him by his full given Christian name. Suppressing the smirk, and the irresistible urge to just kiss her already, Julian took a deep breath, and composed himself as best he could.

"Well, my darling Rosa… you're always calling me a silly goose…"

"Well you ARE, you bloody git," Rosie huffed, though the amused gleam in Julian's eyes was starting to wear her down.

"TECHNICALLY, I'm NOT a silly goose. If ANYONE is a silly goose, it's YOU, Love," Julian said, now unable to hold back the unfortunately timed chuckle.

"ME? Why you bloody Irish prat, I ought to…" she said, just as Julian finally summoned the courage to kiss her, for real, for the very first time.

"You see," Julian said, breaking away from the quick little spontaneous kiss, "technically YOU are the silly goose. I, my beautiful Rosa, am just a silly old gander."

Rosie, a bit taken aback from the gesture, and still absorbing the fact that her best friend had finally kissed her for the first time for real – a moment she'd secretly dreamed about for quite some time now, if she were honest about it – simply paused.

"Oh, whatever," she finally giggled. "It's semantics, like Uncle Sherlock would say. I still love you anyway, if you still love me?"

Julian grinned, and quietly draped an arm around her. "Of course I still love you, Rosa, silly little goose. I've always loved you, I always will. Did you know geese mate for life, love?"

"Actually, I did know that, now that you mention it," Rosie said, as Julian guided them to the couch. "I don't think I did when I first started calling you that though. Oh, we were so young, Jules…"

"We're STILL young, Rosa," Julian laughed. "I think our mothers would faint that we've just kissed for real. Our dads would probably lock us up or something…"

"Or, our dads would lift a pint and congratulate us on finally getting on with it. There's young, and then there's just being stubborn."

"Geese are stubborn, did you know that, Rosa? Why I once heard in Saskatchewan, I think it was Mr. McTavish told of his car being chased by a mean old goose, or maybe it was her ornery gander, and all he did was stop long enough to let a few goslings and their mother safely cross the road from one pond to the one across the way…"

"I've heard of that," Rosie said, as she settled against Julian. "Canadian geese are an irony. Canadians are just so NICE. Their geese are just… oh I can't say it. It's too…"

"They're assholes, Rosa. Don't mince words on my behalf, love, and you shouldn't anyway. You're a Watson. Your dad has never been known to mince his words for anyone at any time. I'm a stubborn little Irishman like you said," Julian laughed heartily. "We're not as young as we used to be, and not as old as we're going to be, but we're always just right for who we are, and we're 13 years old now. We are growing up, whether anyone likes it or not. And I am old enough to kiss you like I just did."

"And I suppose then, I'm old enough to kiss you back… like I just did. Oh what's the saying…? Rosie asked, with contentment that Julian hadn't quite noticed before.

Julian thought a moment, then tightened his arm around Rosie. Kissing her temple with a newfound bravery, he said softly, "I believe what you're thinking goes something like, what's good for the goose is good for the gander."

"Geese are SO stubborn. Maybe in our case, that's a good thing?" Rosie pondered, as she settled against him.

"A VERY good thing, love," Julian said softly, as he tightened an arm around her. "They are stubborn enough to migrate thousands of miles together, then come home six months later and start it all over again. And do this year after year after year. And they make goslings too in the meantime. I hope our little gosling is just as stubborn and determined as we are."

Rosie paused at this, letting it sink in. Then, with a crooked grin to herself, finally responded.

"Only ONE little gosling? I know she's years away yet but only one?"

"I'm being modest, Rosa. A goose only has so much patience to spare, after all," Julian laughed. "Not only with her goslings, but with her gander most of all."

Rosie rose her eyebrow at this, before shaking her head. He was right, of course. Julian was always right. But then again, so was she, when she thought about it. It was really only a matter of meeting in the middle.

What was good for the goose, after all, was good for the gander, she thought.


	146. There But for the Grace

**_There But for the Grace_**

 ** _Genre:_** _Drama_

 ** _Pairings:_** _None_

 ** _Main characters:_** _Greg, Sally_

* * *

"Sir, there's been an accident," Sally said, as she stood in the doorway of Greg's office. "It's a bad one."

Greg Lestrade had long since learned how to read his Sergeant's face. He knew from her expression, grim and pained, that it mattered not a whit that this wasn't their division.

"The Chief has called all hands on deck. It's horrible, Greg," she said. "All CID are summoned to the scene. It may simply be an accident but he wants all of our forensics and investigative…" she trailed off.

Greg swallowed hard as he rose, throwing on his overcoat.

"Right, then," he said as he approached her. Stopping only a few moments, he placed his hands on her shoulders, giving them a squeeze and looking her square in the eyes.

"Whatever we're about to face, we face it together. Whatever we can't handle, we handle it together. Understood, Sergeant?"

Sally nodded, taking a sharp breath. "Aye, Sir. Understood… together."

"Greg," she said, as they headed down the hallway. "Molly and her colleagues are going to have a long night, as will John and Alex in the A and E. I might suggest our families bunk together in 221A with Mrs. Hudson. It's unlikely we're to be home anytime soon.

"Shall I advise Julian to send Emma and their boys over there as well?" Greg asked, as they approached the exit.

"Yes," Sally responded. "Mrs. Hudson will need the help, and Julian and Rosie… they're a strength of their own. Our children will need all four of them on their game."

"Sally," Greg said, bringing them to a halt a few feet from their car. "What are we going to be seeing?"

"A football team, Sir. Aged 16 to 21 and their supports… their coaches, other personnel… their bus was in an accident. It's bad, Greg. Multiple fatal…" she said, her voice breaking and her fist flying to her mouth.

Greg said nothing as he pulled Sally into his arms, allowing her the few moments to break down. When she had begun to calm, surprisingly fast, he pushed away, looking her in the eyes. "Right, then. From this point forward you are to be professional and on your game, understood, Sgt. Donovan? We'll have time for tears later, but right now, we're on duty, and we have a job to do. No matter how difficult it becomes, we have a job. John Watson will be on triage as a soldier. Alex will do what she does with utmost professionalism. Sherlock will detach himself as he always does to look at the evidence and figure out what happened. Molly will do her job as expected. You and I and Julian, we will conduct ourselves accordingly."

Sally nodded, bringing an impatient hand up to wipe away tears. Greg's expression softened. "But we do all of that together, Sally. In any situation like we are about to face, we must remember always, there but for the grace of God go I. Chin up, now. I can't guarantee I won't have moments too, but we MUST be on our game, for the sake of all. They'll do no less for us. We don't know who we may make that difference to today."

He wrapped a paternal arm around her shoulder as they arrived at the car. "Right," she said, as she opened the car door and got in.

The day would prove to be taxing, to say the least, but on balance, they would discover the strength of the human spirit and the innate good of the people of London, who would mourn the losses as a community. Countless gestures, large and small, would come together to make the unthinkable at least a bit bearable.

221 Baker Street would also cope, always remembering, "There but for the Grace of God go I."

 ** _In loving memory of the 16 who perished, and the 19 who survived on the Humboldt Broncos bus. April 6, 2018. #HumboldtStrong_**

 ** _In tribute to the driver who owned his guilt and plead guilty to all charges that he may prevent further pain. May God have mercy on your soul as your soul has felt remorse. There but for the grace of God go we. Amen._**


End file.
